Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong
by Spades24
Summary: Why should the good guys always have it their own way? I wondered what might have happened to the mice if things didn't exactly go to plan. A series of one-shots based on episodes from the original 90s series. UPDATED: CHRISTMAS SPECIAL
1. A mouse and his motorcycle

I suppose this needs an explanation. Has anyone ever watched the cartoon episodes and thought "Phew, how the heck did they get out of that one?" Or, "No one is **that** lucky all the time!" It's the kind of reaction a lot of people had when they watched 24, and Jack Bauer survived just about every major disaster life and terrorists could throw at him (if you haven't seen the show, I highly recommend you clear 8 whole days in your calendar and watch it). So I decided to take a look at some of my favourite episodes and imagine what might have happened if things hadn't always gone to plan. I mean - why do the good guys _always_ have to save the day, be it in the nick of time or with inches to spare?

I am intending on doing a whole series of one shots (not every episode, and only the original series - jeez my fingers would bleed and my eyes need bionic replacements of their own if I did that!), some where things go seriously wrong and have long-lasting effects on the mice, others just mildly inconvenient and (hopefully) amusing.

Umm anyway, here is my first (more to follow soon, whilst the flow keeps going). The original version was good, but I did think Modo and the guys got off way too lightly here.

Whilst I am using the original episodes to set the scene, I don't own any of the characters or anything to do with biker mice. Life is so unfair.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong.

1. A mouse and his motorcycle.

The toxic goo flowed unchecked, tarnishing the beauty and tranquillity of the verdant parkland, ruining everything in its destructive path. Still struggling to rise himself from the purple-blue gunk, the largest and most powerful of the biker mice was slowly fading. The poisons worked their way through his body quickly, absorbed through his skin as if it were a paper towel and then rampaging throughout his blood stream to every vital organ in his body. The damage it was doing was just as catastrophic inside him as it were all around.

He could hear their cries emanating from nearby. His two best friends in the whole universe were shouting out to their vocal limits, pleading with him to be ok, desperate for him to help them out of their own, no less sticky situation. Modo was also dimly aware that his bike, his Lil' Hoss was gone... taken by Limburger.

Karbunkle had already fled the scene, revelling in his personal glory. He had finally defeated the biker mice and for once his boss would be pleased with him. He might even escape the usual kick up the backside that normally greeted him after an encounter with that bothersome band of Martian meddlers. Yes... just for once, he prayed, the mice were surely doomed. And they had succeeded in securing one of the bikes. All in all, the operation had been a major success. Chuckling to himself, and finally out of reach of any danger from the toxic goo, the mad scientist pressed the button on a small remote control he was clutching and the transponder linking it to the on-board transporter of the waiting helicopter activated. There was a brief flash of light, then he was gone.

"Modo!" yelled the frantic tan-furred mouse as he continued to push back against the wall, which advanced relentlessly in the tiny space of the metal cube that imprisoned them. The opposite wall was being fought by his equally hysterical white-furred companion, who joined him in calling out to their stricken friend.

"Modo! We need you bro!"

From outside the box a feminine voice answered them. "Modo's hurt" yelled the woman, before racing to the control panel to save her friends. She was bewildered by what she saw when she reached it. The control panel for the shrinking box had already been sabotaged by the devious doctor, whom she realised was now nowhere to be seen.

Over by the riverbank the grey mouse lay groaning in the caustic slop, desperately trying again and again to lift himself to the aid of his bros. The minutes passed and he made no headway.

"Throttle... Vinnie?" he murmured weakly. Their urgent yells had slowly fallen silent, and even through the haze of pain and delirium that was consuming his body, Modo felt a crushing worry in the pit of his stomach. Why had they stopped shouting? From where the mouse lay, and with the chemicals burning his one remaining eye, he could not see what had befallen his companions.

But Charley could. The female mechanic was frantically pulling apart the wiring of the machine, searching for any way she could fix it and make the thing stop. The view screen on the panel was flashing red, and the small diagram of the metal box now more resembled a capital letter I than a square.

"Guys!" she screamed in alarm. Adrenalin was preventing her from getting anywhere with the repairs, and so she resorted to plan B. Her only other option.

It was a good job she came well prepared. You never knew when you were going to need plastic explosives with all the trouble these mice got themselves into. Running over to the side wall of the box, she pressed the C4 onto it and set the timer for five seconds, and then dived for cover behind the nearest large tree.

**BOOM.**

When the smoke had cleared and the debris settled, the anxious woman scrambled back to the metal box. The scene inside wasn't pretty.

Two unconscious forms were pinned between the walls. There was a trickle of crimson beneath them; with viscous droplets forming at the edge of the torn metal, then falling silently to the sodden grass below. There was no way for Charley to get them out, for although the machine was mercifully just as useless as most of Karbunkle's other contraptions, and was unable to actually _flatten_ the two mice, it had them pinned and no doubt was well on its way to suffocating them as well.

Using her remaining stock of C4 on each of the pistons of the sliding walls (one block of C4 in her kit was never enough, she had learnt that early on) Charley was finally able to disable the machine. The mice were still stuck fast, but Charley had no option other than the grab hold of their furry arms and pull.

_They'll probably not thank me later when I have to reset their dislocated shoulders... but needs must_, she thought grimly and she pushed hard against the box with her feet.

It seemed to take hours, and Charley was seriously concerned not only for the fate of Throttle and Vinnie, but for poor Modo - who was still prone in all of that dreadful stuff of Limburger's demented henchman. Finally the white furred body gave way, and Vinnie was stretched out limply on the grass. Throttle's tan-coloured form soon followed. Neither of them were breathing.

Charley had aced her emergency first aid course, and after administering CPR (she would make sure Vinnie never got wind of her giving him the 'kiss of life' or she would never hear the end of it) and rearranging the two mice into the recovery position, she hurried over to help Modo.

"Modo... Modo? Can you hear me?" Her latex-gloved hands stroked his matted fur, but through the blur of tears streaming down her face Charley could see the grey mouse was in critical condition.

She couldn't lift him by herself, and with his friends still out cold there was only one thing for it. Girl Power.

Thankfully she had known the two Martian bikes for long enough now, and with a mere whistle from her the two 'girls' fired ropes around the helpless giant, and pulled him free of the grunge. She had to now make an awful decision. Modo needed help and she couldn't provide it here. She was going to have to take the two bikes back to her garage, and leave the defenceless Throttle and Vinnie behind.

_They can take care of themselves, injured or not... _

Decision made, the mechanic straddled Vinnie's red racing bike, whilst the black and chrome bike of Throttle's cradled Modo. Now it was a race against time.

The bikes must have sensed the urgency, because after a terrifying high-speed dash through the city, the mechanic and the ailing mouse were soon within the safety of the Last Chance Garage. Their loads dropped, the bikes turned and left the garage so fast the tire marks on the floor almost glowed with heat.

Meanwhile, back in the imperilled woodland park, Throttle and Vinnie were each beginning to stir.

"Charley?" groaned the tan mouse. His left arm felt strange. Kind of heavy, lifeless even. He tried to flex it but it steadfastly refused. All that happened was a violent stabbing pain almost paralysed his body; the muscles in his chest, shoulder and even his throat spasmed in response to the injury. "ARGH! What the h-?" Even cursing hurt, so he gritted his teeth and tried to roll onto his right side.

He could see Vinnie twitching on the ground beside him. His right arm was bent at a strange angle, and Throttle could see that every attempt to move it was having a similar effect to his own. Vinnie's tail thrashed the ground with every moan, as if the mouse were trying to redirect the pain elsewhere.

_Jeez... Did Charley and Modo just leave us here? Have they been captured? And where are the bikes? The bikes would never just desert us. They must have been taken too._

The despairing thoughts kept going round and round in his mind. He could barely move himself, so there was no chance of him being able to carry Vinnie as well. It would be dark soon, and at this time of year it still got quite cold at night. There were plenty of times like now he was thankful of his fur... and of his gun. Night time wasn't the safest out here in the woods.

From somewhere nearby his sensitive ears picked up a welcome sound. The reverberation of the bike's engines filled the wounded mouse with relief. He recognised that purr anywhere.

"Hey little lady, aren't I so glad to see you here?" Throttle was using the bike to heave himself off the ground, trying valiantly to ignore the shooting pains down his left side. "Charley and Modo get to safety?"

The bike blinked its lights twice. The mechanical equivalent of a nod.

"Ungh... is that you, sweetheart?" Vinnie croaked weakly as his own bike sidled up next to him. As it had with Modo, it shot out a rope and hauled him upright, until he was at last able to sit astride the vehicle and balance precariously whilst holding on with his left hand.

Their riders now secured, the bikes revved their engines and powered out of the darkening woodland, going as fast as they dared with their delicate passengers.

"You in one piece bro?" Breathed Throttle into his helmet's intercom.

"I think so... apart from this bum arm... you?"

"Ditto... wonder if Modo's ok".

"Me too bro, me too". It had been a long while since Modo had been this badly injured. Not since they were back on Mars... Vinnie shuddered. It wasn't often that the bad guys got the better of them.

* * *

"Hold still will ya" yelled Charley for the seventh time.

"But Charley-girl, you're trying to rip my arm off and it really HURTS!" Vinnie's eyes were watering.

"_Cry baby_. Throttle didn't give me anywhere near as much trouble as you – AND I had to do it twice!"

Resetting Throttle's dislocated shoulder had certainly challenged the mechanic-come-doctor. Despite everything she had read in her textbooks, and the quick phone call to an old friend - a medic who gave her advice more often than he gave his own patients sometimes - that shoulder really hadn't wanted to go back in its socket. Throttle had screamed loud enough to shake the roof off her garage, but he hadn't once struggled to get away from her help. Not even when it popped out again and she had to go through the whole arduous process a second time. Vinnie on the other hand... well that was a different matter.

"Just hold still, I don't care how much you scream and shout and threaten to pulverise me into the dirt afterwards, but if you don't stop wriggling you're going to be stuck with a useless arm forever".

Vinnie winced. "Alright, alright... let's just get this over with, sweetheart."

_Like I haven't been saying that for the past half an hour. _"Honestly. Sometimes I wonder how you're still able to be so obnoxious" Charley growled, "Or how you're still able to flirt, sorry _how_ you will be able to flirt _at all_ IF YOU WON'T LET ME FIX THIS GODDAMN ARM!"

And just as the irritated woman bellowed at the shocked mouse, she pulled hard on the dislocated limb until she felt it click.

"Aha. That's better." _It'd better not pop out again or I swear I'm calling 911. _That would be an interesting one to explain to the EMTs.

With a look that dared him to say a word or move a muscle, Charley slid a large cloth triangle under the white mouse's arm and tied the sling into a knot at the back of his neck. _Two down, one to go_, she thought grimly.

Despite having washed off all the toxic goo, Modo was still in bad shape. She had no idea what the effects of the poison would be on the gentle giant, and the most she could do was try to use the remnants of the chemical compound to try and find an antidote. But she was no chemist, and the best solution would have been to send the other two mice to smash Karbunkle's face in until he relinquished a counter-agent. Unfortunately, they were in no shape to go and tackle the weedy (but nonetheless surprisingly strong) scientist, let alone the whole goon army that would be standing in the way. A dislocated shoulder was one thing, but the cracked ribs and possible, indeed highly likely, internal damage from being near crushed to death... well, that was quite another.

Looking down at the incapacitated hulk of fuzz and muscle, it was hard to believe that this was once the power house behind the trio. He looked so frail, so _delicate_... almost like a newborn. The chemicals had burned his single eye so badly that after flushing it she had had to bandage it over, afraid that otherwise it would never heal. The toxins that had got inside him had left their mark all over. His thick pelt was now patchy, tufts had begun to fall out and were exposing the angry red rash that was spreading unhindered across his skin. His tail and limbs were twitching - no doubt a result of damage to his central nervous system. A fever was building and sweat was pouring off him by the bucket load, adding to the tremors of his limbs with violent shivers as the sweat evaporated over his burning body. The hours passed and he started to vomit, and then worse, as his body tried desperately to rids itself of the poisons.

"I'm so sorry, Modo" Charley whispered in his ear. "Without an antidote... i'm afraid you're just going to have to wait this one out." Silently she was praying he would actually last long enough to get it out of his system. Throttle and Vinnie's glum faces told her they were thinking exactly the same thing.

"Can't we just go and at least _try_ to get Karbunkle?" Vinnie couldn't stand seeing his friend looking as though he were hovering on death's door. "If they think we're all dead there might not be any goons to fight..."

"Even if that's the case, Vincent" Charley tended to only use his proper name when she was annoyed, "Karbunkle isn't exactly a weakling. You honestly think he hasn't got a backup plan, you know, just in case he failed yet again to get rid of you?"

"But Charley-girl, we can't just sit here and... and..." Throttle didn't want to say the next bit '_and watch their friend die.'_

"I know guys, i'm sorry, but would you rather the alternative?"

The two mice looked at each other, gulping, and then back at their human friend. By the look on her face they didn't want to know what her idea of an 'alternative' was. Deep inside though they knew what she meant. That they should try, but fail, to obtain an antidote... and whilst they were distracted by their efforts to get Karbunkle, they would miss the chance to say good bye to their friend.

Swallowing hard, the two mice sat themselves by the bed, each taking a large grey hand into their own. They would sit there for the next few days, feeling helpless as they watched on the news Limburger claiming the destroyed parkland for his own. They would never know if Karbunkle really had an antidote, although they suspected there must be something – or else why would Limburger even bother taking the spoiled land? By the time their arms and other injuries had mended well enough to fight, Plutark had already attained the majority of the resources that Limburger had plundered for them.

Modo spent a further two months recovering from the poisonous goop. His fur grew back to cover the pock-marked scars left by the vicious rash, and his limbs and tail finally stopped spasming (his tail never was quite the same again, and whenever Modo felt even slightly off-colour it would start twitching, ever so slightly, until he recovered once more). Lil' Hoss returned of her own accord whilst Modo was still recuperating. The bros later learned that she had brought the Limburger Tower down single-handedly (after firing a well-aimed laser at Karbunkle's posterior for good measure). Neither Limburger or the mad doctor would try messing with her, nor any of the bikes again after that.

And never again did the citizens of Chicago have to hear the foulest swear words in the English language resonating uncensored throughout their streets. Next time Charley had to fix a dislocated limb, broken bone or any other serious injury, she made damn sure that she had a piece of cloth and a large roll of duct tape in her medi-kit.


	2. The Pits part 1

**WARNING**: I personally feel the next four-part story pushes the limits of a T rating. I therefore classify this story as an M rating, and it contains scenes of abuse that might upset some readers.

* * *

OK this one took me a little longer to write, and due to length I have divided it into four 'chapters' of its own. I considered having it as a stand alone, but as it will impact the future stories I write in this collection, I have put it here (with the aforementioned warning regarding the nature of its content). Seriously though, writing this was incredibly emotional for me. The purpose of the story is not only to wonder at how far evil can go, or how much our furry heroes can handle before they break, but to force the reader to actually empathise with the characters involved. I challenge anyone to read this and not hate my guts afterwards (lol).

Anyway, here is my take on The Pits. Things don't just go horribly wrong, they get seriously messed up, and the none of the mice will ever be the same again.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong.

2. The Pits.

The reporter had just wrapped up her account of the attempted robbery at the Meatpacker's bank. The picture changed to the news desk, and the anchor behind it moved onto the other major stories featuring that night. Nothing too exciting. A tornado had taken out a small town near Greensburg, Kansas, though thankfully no lives had been lost; and another sighting of a large meteorite over Chicago had the local astronomers in a flap. The reporter on site did a superb job keeping a straight face as she interviewed one of the people who had seen it, especially as they had insisted it was an alien space craft and 'looked nothing like a b***** meteorite!' The reporter had swiftly moved on, inwardly praying she wasn't about to get the sack for that one.

From the lounge of the Last Chance Garage, an auburn-haired woman gave a loud huff as she flicked off the TV set. As crazy as that man had sounded, she would have bet her bike that he had it figured right. _Meteorite my ass _she thought as she moved back to the window. She had spent the last four hours gazing out of it, only leaving when she needed food, the bathroom, or a distraction from the worry that was creeping up inside her. They weren't normally away this long... something had to be wrong. Very wrong.

For what must have been the tenth time that night she picked up the receiver of the CB and pressed the button. "Wrench junky to helmet head, come in." For a moment there was only static, but just before she made to repeat the message a voice answered her.

"This is helmet head... still no sign, over."

She couldn't quite tell if that was a question or not. "Nope, nothing here, over."

Charley sighed. She had hoped they would show up at the scoreboard - if not her garage. After depositing with the police the robbers she and Vinnie had chased down earlier that day, they had spent the rest of the daylight hours searching for any signs of the other two bros. Coming up empty, and with no clues to go on as to their whereabouts, she had headed back to the garage and sent Vinnie to their bachelor pad - just in case they turned up there. But every time she had picked up the radio the answer had been the same. No sign. _Where are you guys..? Are you alright? _

She looked again at the window, almost expecting, _hoping_, to hear the roar of the motorcycles outside, and see the familiar mouse-shaped headlights shining in her direction. But the silent backstreet remained stubbornly deserted, save for the odd stray feline. Realising it was very late the exhausted mechanic resigned herself to sleep. If they came in the night there was no way she wouldn't hear them. **If**. Suppressing the lump forming in her throat, and trying to ignore the clenching in her stomach, she slowly made her way upstairs to bed.

* * *

It was dark. It was cold. And the floor was rock hard beneath him. All around him were the sounds of despair, his sensitive ears struggling to block it out. The smell of blood, bodily fluids, and even tears, were so thick in the air around him his nose was almost assaulted by it. Despite all this, though, the exhausted mouse felt as if he could sleep through just about anything right now.

He was tired to his very bones, not to mention aching all over. The tan-coloured fur clung to his skin, clammy with sweat and dirt, and there was a long, jagged line cut across his back, still weeping slightly where newly forming scabs kept pulling open as he moved. Some blood had trickled round to his stomach and dried there in thick, crimson streaks. Using his fingers he picked away at it, doing anything he could to distract himself from the pain in his body, and the truly terrible situation he was stuck in right now.

He groaned and shifted again, trying to get comfortable. The small cell they had thrown him into was barely big enough for him to lie down, and they had even been so callous as to not provide any form of bedding to keep him warm - or at least off the stone floor. Being so far away from the sun's reach meant this place was pretty chilly, even in the day... and now that night had come temperatures were falling even further. If it hadn't been for his thick fur he probably would have died of exposure. He couldn't begin to imagine what it was like for the others. Was that why they cried so much? Or was it the silent ones that suffered the most? As he lay there, curled up as tightly as his torn skin would allow, his mind slowly drifted. How could things have gone so horribly wrong? _Did anyone even realise they were missing_?

After being dragged what seemed like halfway down into the crust of the Earth (over 200 feet, and then some), two Martian mice had somehow survived their 'controlled' crash landing (firing their bike's jets to slow their descent), only to end up in the grubby hands of the self-appointed 'Pit Boss'. His cronies had found them unconscious in a pile of rubble, and presented them to the fat, balding (and really quite smelly, as in not-seen-a-bath-in-years smelly) man with their arms pinned by thick rope. He had offered them freedom in exchange for the use of their bikes, and when this had been less-than-politely declined he had them thrown into his slave camp for a life-time of hard labour. He had assured them it probably wouldn't be that long.

Modo had initially been incensed by the jibes the pit crew had thrown at them. He really hated being called a rat, but he also wouldn't stand for the rough treatment they were giving his friend either. The grey mouse had tried hard to fight back as they had their clothes and weapons stripped from them (it was a small mercy they had at least left them with their pants on), and it had earned him a rifle butt to the head, knocking him down long enough for the sniggering goons to pin him to the ground and cuff him in strong, wrought-iron chains. They had even had the foresight to secure his arm cannon _before_ they cut the ropes.

There had been little opportunity since for them to escape. There were too many guards, and too many fire-blasting guns pointing their way. And too many other innocent lives at risk. They had already been forced to witness the guards beat a man unconscious when they had initially refused the pick axes tossed at their feet. They didn't want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt on account of their stubborn pride. So they had gritted their teeth and worked away at the rock, willing themselves to ignore the cries of pain, anguish and exhaustion all around them. Just how many other slaves there were in this place they couldn't tell, but it sounded like a lot.

Throttle shifted again. It hadn't taken long for them to crack. They hadn't been able to help themselves, but it had nonetheless been a mistake to try and intervene in the cruel treatment of the other captives. The Pit Boss carried that heavy, electrified whip wherever he went, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy putting it to full use. Poor Modo had seen the worst of it, but the deep gash along on his own back was evidence of his own defiance.

_Where was Modo now_? he wondered anxiously. They had split them up at the end of their shift, and he hadn't seen him since. He sincerely hoped the big guy was still in one piece.

* * *

It just didn't feel right. They never, ever stayed away for so long, not without leaving some clue, or sending out some sort of distress call. An entire week. An entire week and nothing. Either something really terrible had happened, or they were having a whole lot of fun without him.

_Jeez, bros, you wouldn't leave me out of the action... would you_?

Vinnie leaned forward onto the control panel of his bike. He scratched his white-furred muzzle thoughtfully, trying to decide on whether jets or missiles were his means of entry today. In light of the lack of evidence that Limburger was even involved, Charley had tried in vain to persuade Vinnie not to go after the portly Plutarkian on his own. However much she reasoned with him ("_If he isn't involved, isn't it better he DOESN'T know we're two mice down?_") the frustration bordering on desperation the mouse felt for his missing friends had spurred him on, regardless of the consequences, with his preferred plan of action. Waiting really wasn't his style. He would break into the tower, force Limburger to give up the whereabouts of his bros, kick some fish-faced butt, smash everything in sight, pummel some goons, blow up the tower... then rescue Throttle and Modo and be home in time for supper. _Job done_.

So it was a little far-fetched, but with all the adrenalin in his system he felt confident he could manage it. Ho-hum, the look on Charley's face would be priceless when he pulled it off despite her dire warnings. She might even be so overjoyed, so awed by his prowess at fighting, that she might even give him another kiss..._** Yeah**_... with that to look forward to this was going to be well worth the risk. Suicidal maybe... but worth it.

"Jets it is then" he said half to himself, half to the red racer he was straddling. He didn't even have to push the button, the bike had already fired the rocket boosters and was hurtling in an almost vertical trajectory to the penthouse of Limburger Tower. In seconds the glass windows had shattered, and the front tire of Vinnie's bike was planted into the fish-like face of the sleeping Plutarkian, waking him up with a splutter of confusion.

"What the heck..? Oh, it's you... what now? Can't you mice EVER give me a day off?" The irritation at such a rude awakening was undisguised. "I'm sleeping, can't you see that... SLEEPING! Is that a _**crime**_ now too?"

The rancid smell of mouldy cheese, unwashed socks and rotten fish was expelled from the irate fish's mouth as he ranted at the mouse, who had seemed in no hurry to move his bike from the bed, that is until he got a face-full of the malodorous breath. Grimacing at the stench, he rolled his bike backwards onto the teal-blue carpet (..._costing me a fortune in window repairs.. and now look at the mud on my brand new wool carpet_!) and glared at Limburger. When the outburst finally stopped, Vinnie was pointing his purple laser-pistol at the bed.

"I'm only going to ask this once, stink-face...What have you done with them? Tell me now and I might leave your tower in one piece!" Vinnie had his teeth bared as he spoke, his tail thrashing menacingly. If he had hurt them, _no one_ would be able to save him. The mouse would make sure his face was the last thing the fat felon ever saw.

"I honestly don't know what on Earth you are talking about, _mouse_... perhaps you need to spend some more time sleeping yourself and less time disturbing MY sleep! I suggest a vacation... say... Florida?"

"Vacation!" The mouse growled, his tail now positively hyperactive with agitation. "Vacation! That's just what you'd love, isn't it you reeking pork rind! Now TELL ME WHERE MY BROS ARE... **NOW**!" He bellowed the last word so loudly that he must have alerted every goon within a mile radius of the tower.

"I told you I don't know you bothersome brat, even if I did know what makes you think I would keep them here? I've just had this tower rebuilt for heaven's sake!"

Seconds later a breathless Karbunkle came crashing through the door of the penthouse bedroom, his purple dressing gown tripping him over to reveal a hideous pair of acid-green, satin pyjamas. He seemed oblivious to the fact he was also still wearing a hair net... not to mention the hot-pink, fluffy bunny slippers.

"Are you ok my slumbering silkiness...?" the mad doctor breathed, trying to untangle himself from his clothing.

Limburger raised an eyebrow. _Karbunkle's been raiding my wardrobe again... and where the hell is that oily idiot Greasepit?_

"It's about time – get that mouse before he..."

Vinnie hadn't stuck around to wait for Karbunkle to pull himself together. Either Limburger was a very good liar or he really didn't have a clue where his bros were either.

As his bike touched down on the pavement below, Vinnie burst out laughing. Despite the dim awareness somewhere within that he had practically just given Limburger the go-ahead to make some major moves on the city, the very sight of Karbunkle in a hair net was priceless. _And those slippers_. Tears of mirth poured down his cheeks, and his arms gripped his sides as they trembled violently with laughter. He was so overwhelmed with the hilarity he almost didn't notice the small goon army racing to block off his exits. With unused adrenalin still coursing through his veins, however, Vinnie quickly took his cue and proceeded to carry out the rest of his plan. It was easier than it looked too, as Charley had insisted on planting some remote detonating explosives around the tower – just in case. A few small blasts later and the goon army retreated, signalling the grand finale... Vinnie headed back to the Last Chance Garage grinning. The snarl of Limburger's from his tower's rubble still echoed loudly in his mind: _I'll get you for this mouse – mark my words!_

* * *

Modo hadn't told him what had happened to him that first night. Sometime in the early hours he had been dragged to the prison block, and forcibly deposited into the cell next to his. The sound of groaning and struggling had brought the sleeping mouse around, and when the guards had left he whispered as loud as he dared to his friend.

"It's alright bro" he answered softly to the anxious mouse. "They just roughed me up a bit.. you know.. trying to tell me who's boss around here. That's all."

Throttle hadn't been convinced that Modo was giving him the whole story, but he didn't press him. He knew the mouse needed rest, and he was still desperately tired himself. Soon they were both asleep, although it wasn't very long before they were woken again. The Pit Boss wanted his castle completed before the rainy season started, or so he kept saying, and he gave his captives precious little time to rest at night before sending them back to work.

The mice quickly learned that rules were to be obeyed with no exceptions. There were a lot of rules too, and they kept on changing. The two bros realised the guards did this to keep them on their toes... and they had a sneaking suspicion they also simply just enjoyed thinking up new punishments for their charges. It drove Throttle and Modo mad that no matter how hard they and the other slaves worked, it was never good enough. Work harder, stop talking. No resting, no breaks. No physical contact with any other captive. The guards really did try their best to make their already miserable lives in the slave pit as hard as possible.

The first morning had been one of the toughest. Both mice, as fit as they were, weren't used to such intensive labour, or the lack of sleep to recover from it. Their one and only meal of the day was a paltry bowl of cold, brown slop. It reminded Throttle vaguely of something Charley called porridge... but he had seen her eat that with a generous helping of sugar and warm milk. This was clearly unheated and unsweetened. It was considerably worse than the rations he had lived on back on Mars, but it was all they were getting. He could hear Modo in the next cell sniffing suspiciously at the meagre meal.

"Better eat up bro, who knows how long 'til we next get fed" Modo murmured from somewhere near his cell door.

Throttle half thought he would rather starve to death than consume whatever this was in front of him.

After breakfast they were led in a procession back to the mining pit. Slaves were assigned to their own section of rock, and were expected to just get on with it. All day long. No breaks. No talking.

A man nearby the mice collapsed suddenly, groaning with exhaustion.

"Err, hey... you alright?" Throttle muttered, trying to edge closer to the fallen captive. He could hear him croaking weakly, asking for water.

Until that moment it hadn't occurred to the mouse that dehydration would be a problem. He was so used to drinking very little (being a fur-covered mouse he sweated less, and so hardly needed to drink. A handy survival adaption when living on a desert planet), he hadn't thought about the lack of water for the less-hardy humans down here.

"Hey, guard – this man needs a drink and fast!" Modo looked at Throttle in horror as he yelled. After their little 'chat' with him last night he wasn't in any hurry to break any rules just yet, but the guards hadn't had their chance to assert such authority over the tan mouse.

"Throttle, no!" he gasped, keeping his voice low.

It was too late. They had heard him, and were leering down expectantly at the insubordinate captive, waiting eagerly for their boss to come and teach the mouthy mouse a lesson. They didn't have to wait long.

"Did I just hear you speak, mouse?" The Pit Boss growled in a cold, menacing tone, daring the defiant slave before him to answer back. Throttle gritted his teeth. The sickly man lying between them was struggling to get away from the giant boots of the slave driver. He was clearly terrified, weak as he was.

"Am I going to have to remind you what happens when you don't do as you're told?" His voice carried a dangerous air now. "Well... am I?" Throttle winced. "Answer me, RAT" and with the last word he drew back his arm and brought the yellow-glowing whip down hard on Throttle's wounded back. The blow itself was bad enough, but the electric pulse within the flex amplified the pain ten-fold, and the tan-mouse fell to his knees, groaning inwardly as he tried not to cry out. _Don't give him the satisfaction of screaming_ he thought to himself over and over again.

Blood seeped from the fresh wound and dribbled down his ruffled fur. Throttle tried to stand, but the bestial brute laid another blow to his now tender torso, and Throttle fell back down, breathing hard.

"Well... are you ever going to answer me or do I have to stand here and beat you all day?"

Throttle wasn't sure he could take another whiplash right now, and somehow he managed to unclench his jaw and clear his throat. "No" he croaked.

"No what..?"

Throttle paled for a moment. Never in a million years would he have dreamed he would answer to anyone like this. He had defied Sand Raiders who tried to take him as a slave on Mars, and when captured during the war he had fought every Plutarkian who had ever thought to try and make him obey them. He had sworn his whole life he would never be kept, never broken. And yet here he was. Kneeling before this balding, bad-breathed monster who had crowned himself king down here. Being forced to utter the one word he thought he never would.

He gulped hard. The repercussions of disobedience were too great. He felt sure the Pit Boss would have no hesitation in hurting someone else if that's what it took to make him do what he wanted.

"No... _master_". He barely whispered it, but it hurt worse than the lashes to his back.

"Good boy... i'm glad we have an understanding here" the hateful villain crooned down at him. "Now get back to work or I swear you will regret the day you were brought into this world, slave."

That last word stung the beaten mouse hard. As the Pit Boss stalked away to punish another captive elsewhere (the thirst-weakened man on the floor was completely ignored), Throttle glanced up at this grey-furred friend, the tears leaking from his eyes leaving tell tale lines on his anguished face. Modo looked as though he had just fought a terrible battle for the past few minutes, a battle with himself to stop him from jumping forwards and choking the balding crony to death with his bare hands. Once Throttle was on his feet again, the two mice continued their heavy work in silence. The man on the floor eventually stopped moving. At the end of the shift he was dragged away by one of the guards, and the mice never saw him again.

* * *

"For Pete's sake Vinnie – I told you Limburger had nothing to do with it, and now he knows Throttle and Modo are missing!"

Sometimes Charley despaired at just how dumb this mouse could be. Sure he had had his fun... stretched his legs a bit, seen some action. He had had the nerve to come swaggering back to the garage, give her a blow by blow account of how he took out the tower and the goons single-handed ("_Aren't you forgetting it was MY idea to use the remote detonating charges_?") and then expect her to be happy with him! He had even offered up his left cheek for a kiss... She had offered it a hard slap.

"Sweetheart, please!" Vinnie was stunned at her less than welcoming response. "I had to know, I had to get out of here and do _something_!"

Charley sighed. The poor mouse was going spare not knowing where his bros were... or even if they were still alive. Her garage was beginning to show the classic signs of his frustration. At least she had got him out her building for long enough to not only patch it up a bit, but to look (somewhat horrified) at the pile of jobs mounting up on her desk. How was she ever going to get all her work done when she had to practically babysit Vinnie to stop him doing something stupid? Worse still, how would she cope when Limburger inevitably came knocking at her door? Two mice down, the prospect of battling to save her garage from the odious stink-fish's grasp was quite daunting in the least.

"Well at least you took out his tower... might give us some time to fortify this place a bit. Work out a few battle plans. Restock supplies." She glanced wearily around her workshop. They were down on just about everything from tools and weapons to food and medical supplies. There was nothing for it... she was going to have to do the run herself, and leave the loose cannon that was bouncing off the walls to guard the place. If there was anything left of it when she returned it would be a miracle.

"Just... just... don't break anything while i'm gone will you" she called back over her shoulder as her truck pulled out of the yard. _And please don't let Limburger come calling just yet_.

* * *

It was Throttle's turn to have a 'chat' with the Pit Boss and his cronies. Modo had given him a horrified look when the guards had pulled him out of the line on their way back to the cells, and Throttle knew instantly what it meant.

The foul-smelling despot was reclined back on something vaguely resembling a throne, and the room itself was (loosely perhaps) designed to look like some kind of aristocratic retiring room, minus anything resembling the finer comforts (notably carpets, curtains...). Clearly the Pit Boss wanted grandiose and imposing, but something that more said bandit's lair than nobleman's living room.

The tan mouse was deposited on his knees in front of the fat brute. The man leaned forwards over his sizeable gut, looking down on the blood-stained captive with a mixture of cold triumph and menacing disgust.

"So... what have we here..?" He rubbed his stubbled chin with his grimy, sausage-like fingers. "Of course... it's the slave who thought he was above the rules... _my_ rules no less..." His voice trailed off, the dangerous tone just tipping the end of the sentence, taunting the kneeling mouse at his feet.

Throttle was breathing fast, shallow breaths, clenching his jaw hard to prevent him saying something he regretted. His back was still very raw from the morning, and his head was starting to ache from the lack of fluids. The hard, manual work had forced his body to sweat much more than normal for him, his thick fur trapping in too much heat even in these cold depths. His mouth was dry, too, and it wasn't just from the need of a drink.

"Boys, why don't we show this rat how the chain of command works in here. Show him who is at the bottom of the pile." An excited murmur echoed around the stone-walled chamber.

One of the unarmed cronies stepped up behind Throttle, kicking him hard at the top of this thighs so that his body rocked forward, then pressed his booted foot down onto the back of his head, pushing his face to the floor. He held it there, and the mouse was forced to turn his face so that he could breathe. "What is it you want from me, pit breath?" he growled, a small trickle of blood oozing from his nose where it had struck the hard stone.

The tyrant laughed. "It's quite simple you insubordinate twerp, either you submit completely to my rule or I make sure neither you nor that simpleton sewer dweller you call a friend ever see the light of day again."

Rage burned in the tan mouse's heart. Modo may have been a little slower than some, but he was a good mouse and had more courage than anyone he knew. Not to mention physical strength. Despite the hatred he felt, and the strong desire to call this vile villain just about every bad word he could think of (and he knew a few choice ones by now), he didn't want to doom his bro anymore than himself. He kept silent.

"Good, it seems you might actually be learning. Let's continue with the lesson, shall we?"

* * *

Modo was pacing his tiny cell, desperately hoping that Throttle had kept his cool. He knew he was a hypocrite for feeling it, after all it was normally he who couldn't control his temper. But after seeing the kind of mercy the men down here were capable of, he instinctively had kept his head down and his mouth shut, and did everything that was required of him... no matter how dreadfully demeaning it had been. He knew this would be hard for Throttle. He had never seen the mouse lose face in front of an enemy. He was a leader, and only followed orders from those who had earned such respect. _Not malodorous menaces like the Pit Boss_.

When Throttle was returned to his cell, the grey mouse could tell that his friend hadn't fought back this time. He was still able to walk, which was a good sign, but his head hung low as he shuffled towards the steel bars. The guards threw him roughly inside the cell and locked the door, giggling nastily as they turned back to their own quarters.

"Throttle... Throttle are you ok?" It was Modo's turn to be anxious. He could smell blood, which was no surprise, and he could also sense the anguish and pain he was feeling through the chemicals in his drying sweat. But there was something worse than that. He could smell a familiar, acrid smell coming from the mouse next door. As he sniffed harder he raised his top lips, baring his teeth in an expression of utmost disgust. _Those vile pigs_...

The smell reminded him of something else he had been trying his hardest to ignore. A pain in his lower belly was giving him urgent signals, and it was getting worse. There was no where the mouse could go, and his cell was so tiny he wouldn't want to foul the meagre floor space on which he was forced to sleep. _Might as well get this over with... at least whilst no one's looking._

Relief flooded his face, not to mention his belly, as he unbuttoned his jeans at the front of the cell. He sincerely hoped that the evidence would be gone before the morning.

Throttle groaned softly. "Modo... is that you bud?"

"Yeah, it's me. Had to take care of nature's business... you know, better now than..." _Than when stopping to relieve yourself was considered a punishable offence. _"Did they hurt you much bro?"

"Nah, not really" he whispered, joining him at the bars. He desperately wanted to reach through and grasp his older friend by the hand, anything to remind himself that he wasn't alone in all of this. But the thought of the look of revulsion that must have been on the gentle grey face of his comrade was more than enough to stop him. He didn't even want to touch himself right now.

He heard Modo retire to the back of his cell, a soft gasp issuing from the mouse's mouth as he lay his work-tired body onto the cold stone. He took the opportunity to add to the small puddle outside, and then flopped himself down in exhaustion. He wasn't able to sleep for quite a while, though, and as he lay there listening to the rhythmic snores of his exhausted companion, he tried to suppress the humiliation that blazed white-hot inside him. Images kept coming into his mind of the Pit Boss's boots, thick with dirt and god-knows-what, that he had been required to 'clean' for him... He could still hear the cronies in the background howling with laughter as he was forced to the floor, again and again, until their boss was satisfied with the job. He tried his very best to not remember what happened after that.


	3. The Pits part 2

**WARNING:** As with the last chapter, the following contains scenes of abuse some readers may find upsetting.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong.

2. The Pits (part 2)

"Vinnie, go easy on the gas will you! Fuel run isn't until next week you know!"

Charley was indulging in a rare moment out of the garage with the white mouse. They had spent the past four weeks taking it in turns to leave the building, although it was mostly Vinnie who enjoyed the freedom of the outdoors. She still had a business to run, amongst everything else, and besides the mouse was so agitated these days it drove her up the wall. It was better if he left her to it. It had taken them some time to gather all the supplies and equipment they needed should they come under siege, but Limburger was mercifully preoccupied with Tower Reconstruction Project number 14, and gave them no sign that he even desired to attack.

Now that the Last Chance Garage had been fortified, installed with alarms, extra locks, and a myriad of booby traps (not to mention the cameras, warning alarm systems and remote weaponry they had planted in every street leading up to the building), they were finally able to get out and just enjoy some fresh air together.

"Sorry sweetheart, but with all the time stuck indoors I would have thought even you would benefit from a change of pace." The mouse grinned wickedly, revving his engines and pushing his bike on even harder. He would have fired his jets too, but without his bros he was severely outnumbered by this feisty woman. Not that he didn't enjoy annoying her from time to time. She was so _**hot**_ when she was angry.

"Just remember this when you're stuck inside in a couple of days time because you ran out of gas, and the goons are demolishing half the neighbourhood." Charley shuddered. It was her worst fear right now that Limburger should pick his moment to act just when they were at their most vulnerable. Thank goodness they had completed the intruder alert network already... she would finally be able to sleep at night knowing she wasn't going to be taken out by surprise.

She breathed deeply. She didn't want to spoil their first time out together in nearly a month. It was a small wonder she hadn't murdered him already, but without Throttle and Modo two things were painfully apparent to her now. One was that Vinnie completely lacked focus without the other two to control him (his idea of dealing with Limburger was dive in head first with no thought of how to get out again); and the other was that he did not like to be alone. Not this alone.

He had not spent so long away from his two bros since the day he met them. Sometimes she would come down from her bedroom in the middle of the night and see him sitting by the window, gazing longingly outside, tears sliding silently down his furry, desolate face. She really hated seeing him like that. After a while it had got to her so badly she had offered him to share her bed, putting her arms around him and allowing the mouse to hold her tightly in return, and comforted him when he needed it the most.

Today they were just two friends relaxing together away from the stresses and strains of life. The picnic site by the lake was the perfect place for it.

Vinnie pulled into their usual spot in a screech of tires and smoke, kicking up the dry dirt and sending just about every bird that had been in the vicinity fleeing for their lives. _Not exactly respecting nature are we..? _Charley dismounted the bike shakily, giving Vinnie a '_was that really necessary?_' kind of look. He shrugged, smiling impishly back.

"Ah, this is the life... dogs, root beer, not a goon in sight..." The mouse reclined himself against a mossy stone, his arms behind his head.

"I hope you don't think I came along just to be the cook, Mister." Charley threw a large apron in his direction, glaring.

"But.. but... sweetheart..." Vinnie was trying his hardest to choose his next words very carefully. "You do it so well and..." Her eyes were narrowing, her hands sitting stiffly on her hips. "...and err... i'll do the washing up!" _That's right, she can't argue with that one surely? Fair is fair after all..._

For a moment the white mouse thought he had won the argument, but when a second later a pair of tongs hit his head, followed by a whole bucket load of ice from the cooler, he eventually got the message.

As he stood up to take over from her at the grill, he was sure he heard her muttering. _He'll do the washing up? We're using paper plates..! Honestly - does he think i'm a total idiot_?

* * *

The lack of food and water was starting to take its toll on the two mice. Each day that passed the work became harder and the short time to rest in between less and less refreshing. It seemed that if they even paused for breath they were in trouble, and the knowledge that they were being watched like a semi-final re-match was starting to wear them down. It was inevitable that they would need to answer the 'other' call of nature at some point, but trying to do it when a dozen pairs of eyes were on you and the owners of those eyes were trigger happy with fire-blasting rifles... Let's just say it wasn't one of their finest moments.

Whilst the mice tried their best to keep their tiny cells unsoiled, they really could not avoid the stench and dirt that clung to their own bodies. It was over a week before they had any relief from it, when one evening after their shift all of the captives were directed in front of a large pressure hose. The freezing water not only took the dirt away (not to mention a layer of dead skin and a bit of fur – a pressure hose is a seriously sadistic way to wash someone down), but also dampened their ability to breathe for several moments. The rest of the night had been spent shivering uncontrollably, licking the precious moisture from their sodden fur, lest it hindered further the coat's ability to protect them from the plummeting temperatures. After the third week the mice noticed that they were always at least one man fewer the morning after bath-day.

But it wasn't their own problems that really bothered Throttle and Modo. They had lived through war, famine and imprisonment, and as awful as it was they were still strong enough to just deal with it. It was the suffering of the other captives that really, really pushed them to their limits. Time and time again they returned to their cells and simply cried themselves to sleep, having held onto all the frustration and abject horror at what they witnessed whilst under scrutiny. Two months into their captivity, their frayed tempers finally broke.

They hadn't seen a female before down in the slave pit, and they definitely hadn't seen any children. The girl couldn't have been more than 14 and she was plainly terrified, crying for her parents and begging the heartless henchmen to let her go home. The guards responded with derisive laughter, before savagely throwing her into the mine to work. When she was unable to even lift the heavy tools before her, they had cat-called at her, taunting her for her weakness. The mice hadn't seen all of this going on (if they had they would have acted sooner), but when the guards began to drag the wailing child by her hair, forcing her onto the blood-soiled path that led out of the pit, and then, in full view of the mice, onto her back with her muddied dress torn...

"GET OFF HER NOW YOU SICK B******* SHE'S ONLY A CHILD!"

Modo's eye was glowing redder than ever before as he launched himself at one of the guards, dragging him off the terror-stricken girl and smashing his metal fist repeatedly into his face. Throttle had his hands around the throat of another whilst his tail and teeth each fought their own separate battles.

"No one hurts children whilst the biker mice are around, _you got that_?" He growled, snapping his jaws at a hand trying to prise him off the choking guard.

As fast as it started it was all over. A flash of yellow followed by a screech of pain, and the tan mouse was on his side, panting in rage. Modo was being pulled bodily off his own mark by three of the biggest guards the Pit Boss had in his employment.

The scene was truly ugly. Two guards were carried away to the infirmary, neither of them conscious (and with really quite slim chances of recovery); another was clutching his bleeding hand, complete with teeth marks, whilst the last was cradling himself between his legs. Modo's grey fur was splattered with red, and Throttle had congealed blood around his mouth, with his own now weeping from the fresh line on his back. The young girl was relatively unharmed, but hadn't moved an inch from where she was thrown.

By the look of it the Pit Boss was about to erupt with near apoplectic proportions. His cracked, brown-strained teeth were bared, and his shoulders were heaving with each, barely controlled breath.

"Get them out of here now" he hissed, his knuckles white with his vice grip on the electric flex. He glanced down at the girl still frozen on the floor. "Take the mice to the pavilion... I will deal with them later."

Both Throttle and Modo had heard that word before. At night when they were free of the oppressive stare of the guards, they could hear whispered chatter between the other slaves, passing on messages of hope or despair, or tit-bits of information they had overheard when working. Sometimes it was just news from the surface (_another meteorite over the city, wow, that's three this month_), other times it was a warning to the other captives (_don't be caught doing something wrong in front of the one with the red beard... I've heard he has a thing for blunt knives..._). The pavilion was one of those rumours that scared the living wits out of them. No one who went there ever came back the same, if at all.

* * *

It really was a good day. The sun was shining, the air was still... and the contractors were at last adding the final touches to his new building across the street. The purple-suited man stood at the window of his temporary office, a fairly modest room in one of his auxiliary high-rises that the mice usually (but not always) left untouched. He smiled, surely this would be the last time he would ever have to shell out 50 million dollars in construction costs... Lord Camembert was rapidly getting impatient with his repeated loan requests, and it really was quite tiresome having to ask that infuriating line manager at Empire to reorder the teal-blue, shag-pile carpet he preferred.

He turned back to his desk, and reached out a white-gloved hand to the bowl it held, grasping a fist-full of pink, wriggling worms and popping them all into his mouth at once.

"Mmm mmm... yes, life is good."

His eyes narrowed the elevator doors opened, and a large oily-skinned man skidded forwards out of it, landing in a heap at his feet. If anything was going to ruin his day, it was whatever this greasy idiot was about to tell him.

"Uh, sorry boss..." the crumpled goon blustered as he tried to right himself. Every time he tried to get a foothold on the linoleum tile he slipped backwards in his own slimy excretions, spraying more of the icky ooze onto his employer's clothing.

"What is it you want now you oleaginous oaf?" the sinking feeling in Limburger's gut was all too familiar.

"Umm, it's that blasted bike-riding mouse and his fur-loving friend boss, they always seem to know where me and the goons are at..." he trailed off, even his limited brain capacity allowed him to recognise the best time to shut up.

"Honestly you ignorant imbecile, can't you just for once get something done without whining to me about that mouse and that woman? How difficult can it be to rob the silicon processing factory when there's two _less_ of them to have to worry about?"

"Aww i'm sorry but it's like now there's only one of them he's trying to make up for it by pretending to be all three!"

As much as it pained him to think it, the dim-witted dolt had a point. He had hoped that they would be so focused on protecting that worthless garage from him that they wouldn't be able to spend anywhere near as much time snooping around and hassling his henchmen. He couldn't have been more wrong. Whilst they hadn't yet made another attempt on his tower (a small mercy), Greasepit wasn't wrong when he said the mouse and the mechanic always seemed to know what he was up to, and somehow stopped him anyway, two mice down or not. That daredevil maniac of a Martian was either suicidal or a total utter lunatic.

"Very well" he sighed at the overall-clad man, who was anxiously twiddling a small red cap in his over-sized mitts. "I guess I will just have to dock your pay again... now kindly remove yourself from my sight before I do it for you."

Greasepit stood there for a few seconds, processing what his boss had just told him. It was only after he finally left the room (slipping back into the elevator, 'nudged' there by his boss's foot) did it dawn on him that he didn't even get paid.

"KARBUNKLE!" The furious fat fish-man bellowed down at the desk intercom.

"You called, my sweet stinking sturgeon" The mad doctor was dressed in his usual white lab coat (complete with stains of unidentified origin marking the lapel) and kitten heeled, knee-high boots.

"I want to know how that tiresome tag-team _always_ know what I am doing."

Karbunkle had started to wonder how come it had taken this long for Limburger to notice.

"And, I want to know where exactly those other two mice are."

Karbunkle's jaw dropped. "Are you sure my reeking royalness... you actually _want_ to know where they are...?"

"Yes, dammit. I want to know if I should expect a visit from them any time soon, or if I should be offering to speak at their wakes. Whatever has happened, wherever they are... it's making me nervous **not** knowing."

_And its driving me mad that one mouse is doing more damage than all three together ever bothered to_.

Limburger would never admit it, but things had been easier before the two other annoying rodents had gone missing. That white Martian was on a mission to make his life as miserable as possible, as he apparently had nothing better to do with his time. _Maybe I should have been more insistent on that holiday to Florida. Heck i'm tempted to go there myself_, _dratted mouse. _

He looked out of the window and scowled. The sun had gone behind a cloud and the breeze was starting to pick up. He was right... Greasepit had ruined his day after all.

* * *

As infamous as it was, the pavilion was neither grand nor particularly imposing in structure. Like the rest of the buildings down here it was made of primarily of stone mined from the pits, and had little else to it. It comprised of an encircling stone wall, with four pillars supporting a timber-framed roof, topped with corrugated iron. There were channels in the floor radiating out from the centre point, and forming a ring around the edges, with holes in the stone wall to allow drainage from them. There were a few wooden benches and chairs (presumably for spectators...) and, more chillingly, iron loops welded to several points on the walls and the stone-flagged flooring.

It was to these that the mice were shackled, a cold heavy collar of iron clamped around their necks and connected to the rings by a long chain of thick, metal links. They were left there alone for some time before the Pit Boss came to deal with them.

"You think this is it, bro?" the tan mouse was trembling violently as the adrenalin in his system started to break down. It was also fair to say he was terrified.

"What.. you mean like, they're going to kill us?" The thought had crossed Modo's mind, but for the sake of his friend he wasn't ready to give up hope just yet. "Nah, we're the best workers they got... but i'd say we are in a whole lot of trouble." He couldn't help wondering what would happen to the girl. It was a horrible thought, especially as they had probably just made things one hundred times worse for her. He clenched his jaw. _If those brutes touch her... it'll be the last thing they ever do_.

The two mice sat in silence, waiting, wondering at their impending fate. Wondering if Vinnie and Charley were ok, and if they would ever find them down here... Or if Limburger had got to them. They both knew that Vinnie would defend the lady mechanic to the death if he had to, but they really hoped it hadn't come to that. They were their only hope of getting out of here.

The ominous thud of steel toed boots on stone warned them they were about to find out if they would even be alive by the time they were found. The Pit Boss had come for them, and his irate fury had calmed to a level of cold cruelty that would send the bravest of men quivering in their shoes. He had no intention of killing the felt-furred captives. No, he wanted them to live... but what he really wanted was for them to wish he _had_ killed them.

"So... I see that you two troublemakers have forgotten the earlier lessons I gave you in authority down here." He was circling them, tracing his hand along the flex of his whip as he did so, stepping carefully over the drainage channels in his path. They were an important feature of this structure. It saved a lot of time cleaning up afterwards.

The guards he had with him were sniggering at the cornered mice. The Pit Boss could be very inventive when he was angry, and today he was probably off the scale in his displeasure.

The line of staples, presumably closing an old wound that refused to heal, glinted like a demented smile on the Pit Boss's forehead. One of the guards had brought a metal barrel into the room and started a fire within it. The resulting orange glow danced off the dark stone, but brought little warmth into the gloomy structure. The mice still shivered uncontrollably on the stone floor.

The balding crone smirked at the bewildered look on the furry faces. They clearly had no idea what was in store for them.

He waved a hand at the guards, and two immediately lurched towards each of the mice and pinned them down, whilst a third reached around their waists. The mice struggled, but it was no good. The guards had already yanked off their biker boots, then unclasping their belts to rip open the buttons that held their jeans closed, they pulled remaining clothing from them. They were now completely naked.

Throttle caught a glimpse of his friend's legs, and was horrified to see deep gouges in his skin. Most of them had healed over... but there were a few that were obviously recent. _This must be how they show him who's boss _the tan mouse thought, shuddering. There had been a number of occasions when Modo had gone missing, only to turn up in the early hours barely moving and unresponsive. He hadn't dared to ask him what happened.

The Pit Boss looked down on the mice, only slightly surprised by what he saw_. It's amazing how different... and yet so similar they are to humans_. _Different enough though. _

He was going to enjoy this, no one had ever defied him so persistently as these two had.

"That's right, you disobedient rat-boys, from this day on you will be treated exactly like what you are. _Animals_. And animals _don't wear clothes_."

Being called a rat was like a red rag to Modo, but being called an animal was hurtful to a depth that even he couldn't begin to climb out of. His eye flashed red, but he was frozen to the spot. A terrible argument was playing out in his mind, the anger inside urging him to fight back, the fear begging him not to. Throttle was having a similar battle. In both cases, fear won.

The Pit Boss motioned to a group of goons waiting near the entranceway. They looked delighted that it was their turn to have a go at the mice. They ran eagerly over, and in the manner of the other guards they soon had the mice pinned down whilst they performed their role. When they released them the mice were sporting a new set of shackles, specially made for them. Their ankles were now chained together, and a third series of metal links connected them to the corresponding set of chains around their wrists.

Throttle and Modo looked at each other, the sinking realisation of what was about to be the nature of the rest of their lives hitting them hard.

"Now get up, and show me how an _animal_ walks". This he couldn't wait to see.

He nodded to the goons again, and they released the catches holding them to the floor. Rough hands pulled them onto their feet... their now four feet... and dragged them by the necks in a lap of the pavilion. Being as they hadn't moved in this manner since they were toddlers, they had almost no idea what to do. After tripping several times, and then being 'encouraged' to get back up by the electric whip, they finally managed to figure it out.

Humiliation scorched their cheeks as they were led round and round the room, their tails flicking agitatedly against their thighs. And then humiliation was replaced by horror when they realised they were being led over to the metal barrel. The man tending it was reaching in with a gloved hand, pulling out a long, glowing stick, its end vaguely resembling a twisted knot of metal with 'PB' clearly defined within.

"I own you mice, and this is what people do to animals they own. They mark them; mark them so that everyone else knows who they belong to. Consider this mine." The Pit Boss bent low to the sickened mice, and whispered softly in their twitching ears. "And when I finally get your bikes to obey me you will regret the day you turned down freedom."


	4. The Pits part 3

**WARNING:** This chapter contains scenes of abuse that some readers may find upsetting.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong.

2. The Pits (part 3)

"Tell me again dear boy, so that i'm sure I heard you correctly... where exactly did you last see those two heroic hamsters?" It had never occurred to Limburger that the bumbling bozo's ramblings about bank robbers and the mice saving him from them were actually true. He had just assumed the idiot had hit his head during another biker mouse-led attack and he was trying to make excuses for subsequently failing to carry out his orders.

"It's like I said before boss... some peoples tried to rob the bank and those mouses went after them... saved my penny collection too." Greasepit's entire life savings (somewhere in the region of three dollars... all in cents) were contained in a child's piggy bank. The pink porcelain pig had been repaired a number of times over the years, given the fact that Greasepit kept losing it from his slippery grip. On the day in question, one of the robbers had thought it a good idea to take Greasepit hostage, forcing the mice to back off. Greasepit had been more worried about losing his money than his life, but nonetheless was eternally grateful that the mice quickly came up with a plan, and saved him anyway.

"Hmmm... they were fighting other criminals... interesting. But who... who could they have been... and mores to the point, where did they go?"

"I dunno boss, when the mouses went after the robbers that's the last I ever saw of them." It had taken Greasepit nearly two hours to rescue the contents of the broken piggy bank. In the end one of the bank tellers took pity on him and gathered it up herself.

Limburger reached down to his brand new, oak-finished desk, and picked up the telephone.

"Doctor Karbunkle... Find me access to the federal criminal records database... and a copy of the land registry records for the city. Oh, and I want CCTV footage of the day of the bank robbery that Greasepit witnessed..."

"Anything else your portly parmesan-ness?" the doctor simpered in reply. Over the line it sounded like he had just applied a new chemical compound to his loyal test-subject, the incurably masochistic Frederick the mutant. His giggles of ecstasy (in between bouts of hiccups) filtered through phone to Limburger's ear.

The portly Plutarkian was in no mood to ask what the hell the mad scientist was up to this time.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is one more thing..." When he was hungry, there really was no way he could deal with the hare-brained musings of the demented deviant downstairs. "Get me the biggest can of slime worms you can find... I'm starving to death up here!"

_A likely story_... Karbunkle murmured to himself as he clicked off the speaker phone. He still didn't know what the foul fish was up to, but the latest request was the strangest yet. Last week he had wanted the phone number of every hot dog vendor in a 200 mile radius of the city. _He's finally lost it, i'm sure he has_. Nevertheless the doctor turned to his computer and sat down. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

It burned. It burned so badly he couldn't stop the scream escaping from his throat, and the laughter from his tormentors rang in his ears as he writhed on the stone floor, trying to kick out, to push himself away from the glowing metal pressed into his thigh. The chains held his legs in place, jerking viciously against his wrists as he struggled. Blood oozed where the metal cuffs bit into his skin, adding to the ruthless torture his body was experiencing.

"No, please... noooo..." The tan mouse shouted out in his sleep, the nightmare plaguing the precious little rest his body was allowed. He tail thrashed against the metal bars of his cage, adding a fresh layer of bruising to the tender flesh.

"Throttle... Throttle... wake up bro, wake up..." The grey mouse was frantically trying to get his friend to rouse from the dream. He whispered as loud as he dared, reaching his tail through the bars of his adjacent cage into the other, using it to shake his wretched cousin until he stirred.

The mouse groaned softly. The nightmare was the same every night, a distressing reminder of just how bad things had got for them down here in the Pits.

"Thanks bro" he whispered, feeling sheepish that his dream had disturbed the older mouse's sleep as well.

"It's alright... I hate seeing you like that is all." Secretly Modo feared the night time vocalisations would attract even more unwanted attention.

He lay his head back down, hoping that he might get at least a few more hours sleep before they came for them. It wasn't easy to get comfortable. They had been moved from the cells into a pair of steel-barred cages, sited right in the middle of the cell block where all of the other prisoners could see them. There was no privacy now whatsoever, as the cages were essentially a cube of metal bars, with the only solid surface being the floor. There was no bedding of any sort, and the mice were forced to sleep on their sides, their wrists and ankles remaining locked together day in, day out. On one side of the cage were two circular wire frames, each supporting a stainless steel bowl. One for water, one for food. Conveniently placed at shoulder height, the perfect elevation for their snouts to reach. They couldn't use their hands at all.

At least tonight they had been allowed to lie down. When the Pit Boss had first locked them in here they had still been wearing the chains around their necks, and these had been locked to the roof of the cage, forcing them to stand on all-fours all night long. The next morning they realised just how exposed they were. Over a hundred faces peered at them from the cells surrounding them, all looking down at the caged mice in a mixture of shock and awe.

"Maybe we will go down in history as the only slaves to survive a session in the pavilion" The bitter irony in Throttle's voice was barely concealed.

Now that they no longer had their hands free to use a pick axe, the Pit Boss had cunningly devised a new mode of hard labour the mice would endure. They were led into the mining pit that morning and presented with a leather harness each, which the guards quickly strapped to their bodies, paying no attention to the bloodied welts that littered the mice's skin. The straps were pulled tight, and the two furred captives clenched their jaws hard, groaning as the leather pinched viciously at their wounds. They were then expected to pull cartloads of the rough-cut stone from where they were mined to the half-built section of castle, which was some way across the other side of the Pits.

Pain shot across the muscles in their necks and shoulders, and their legs cramped in protest at having to propel them in the unfamiliar gait. They were frequently encouraged along the way by regular visits from the Pit Boss and his pulsing, yellow flex.

The only small mercy of this new arrangement was that they had time to rest, albeit briefly, as their loads were taken from them. They then had to pull the empty cart back to the mine and start all over again.

The biggest downside was during these rest breaks, which became their only opportunity to relieve themselves, they had even less privacy... and no way to stop the inevitable soiling of the chains that bound them.

But at least they had a full bowl of water to return to each night. Although that also meant a fuller bladder.

* * *

"Do you hear that, Charley-girl?" The question issued softly from the mouse's lips carried only a trace of alarm.

"Hear what...? What is it this time Vinnie?" By comparison the note of annoyance in the female mechanic's voice was unmistakeable. "I have to be up early tomorrow, is there any chance you could at least _try_ and stop jumping at every teensy tiny sound that those oversized ears of yours detect?"

The white mouse looked wounded. He couldn't help being so on edge. Limburger tower was complete and from what he could gather from his latest patrols the fat fish was up to something. So far he and Charley had been able to keep up with the smaller schemes and heists that he had tried to pull off, but now he seemed to be gathering momentum for something far bigger. He had a whole host of shady characters frequenting his tower these days, and they were extremely difficult to follow when they left. _I wonder what he is up to...why so many visitors?_

"I'm sorry sweetheart... but this time I really do think I heard something."

The tired woman strained her ears, listening hard for whatever it was her furry companion had heard. She couldn't detect anything, and besides the intruder alert system would surely sound if anyone was snooping around outside. Yawning, she pressed her face back into the mouse's muscular chest, enjoying the slight cinnamon smell lingering on his fur. It had taken her a lot of cajoling to get the mouse not only to stop still long enough to take a shower, but to use the sweet smelling shampoo she liked so much. It was even gentle enough to use on his delicate skin. And oh boy it smelt so good on him.

"Go back to sleep Vinnie... if anyone's out there the alarm will go off..." She barely finished uttering the sentence before she herself was sound asleep, lulled there by the soothing rhythm of his beating heart. He pulled her closer and gently kissed her head. If anyone was there he wouldn't let them harm her. She was all he had now.

The next morning the sleepy mechanic shuffled down to the kitchen, her eyes still unfocused. It was way too early for her... but she had no choice if she was going to ever get through her mountain of repair jobs. Almost automatically she glanced at the computer in the lounge. A light was blinking on the control panel of the alarm system that was connected to it.

"Oh no..." she whispered, before reaching for the nearest heavy object she could find. In this case a bronze table lamp.

Clothed only in a cotton t-shirt and fleece dressing gown, she cautiously pushed open the door to the workshop. With nothing amiss in there, she crept to the back passageway, pausing to check the small kitchen before slowly opening back door. _At least it's still locked.. a good sign I hope._

There was no one in the yard, but before she turned to go back inside she spied something white on the step. She grabbed the envelope, locked the door and hurried back upstairs to her bedroom.

"Vinnie, wake up! You were right there was someone out there last night..." The mouse stirred for a second, and then continued snoring. "VINNIE WAKE UP NOW ITS AN EMERGENCY!"

The poor mouse sat bolt upright and grabbed his gun from under his pillow. Without waiting for any more information he threw himself out of the bed, tripping over the covers and face-planting into Charley's woollen slippers.

"Ungh, quick Charley help me up will you, they might get away!"

She couldn't deny herself a small chuckle at the sight of the haphazard mouse nose down on the floor.

"Sweetheart?" Vinnie was starting to realise it wasn't quite as urgent as the woman had made out. However, he was concerned by the fact the half-dressed woman was still grasping the large table lamp from downstairs.

"Sorry Vinnie, it's ok we're not under attack. The alarm system was registering a trip and the bells must have a fault because they didn't sound. Anyway, we are lucky no one broke in. I did find this on the doorstep though." She gestured at the envelope in her free hand.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"Umm, I guess so..." She didn't seem in any hurry. What if the envelope was concealing some kind of high-tech paper explosive?

Vinnie was far too impatient. It was 6am in the morning, and he didn't like being woken up this early for nothing. He snatched envelope from her hand, and before she could stop him he had ripped it open.

_No explosion, thank you lord._

Charley opened her eyes again, and looked curiously at Vinnie. He had what looked like a letter in his hands. His eyes were wide, and he appeared to have stopped breathing.

"Vinnie... what is it? Are you ok? What does it say?"

The white mouse nodded, swallowing hard. To the startled woman he looked on the verge of tears. She gently took the paper from his hands, noting that he felt cold to the touch, and that he was shaking.

She looked at his face again, wondering what this mysterious note could say to make the mouse so upset.

Her heart found its way to her own mouth. For a moment neither of them moved. The note slipped from her loosening grip and floated smoothly to the floor.

A single line written in ink stood out against the stark white. It read: _I've found them._


	5. The Pits part 4

**WARNING:** The following chapter contains scenes of abuse that some readers may find upsetting. If you thought the previous 3 were bad, I advise you **not** to read on.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong.

2. The Pits (part 4)

Tears poured down his face as he watched them. The cries were terrible to hear, and even though they were muffled by the thick cloth wound around the mouse's little snout, they still seared through him, hammering brutal blows to his very soul. Every tiny cell inside screamed at him to put a stop the abuse he was being forced to witness. But it was all pointless. There was nothing he could do to make them leave his tormented friend alone.

Throttle was chained in the middle of the room. At night the pavilion was even more foreboding than the day time. The only light was cast by a small number of lamps that were dotted around the place, some hanging from the rafters, others resting on the wooden benches. The ones, that is, that weren't occupied by those goons, guards and henchmen who had come along to enjoy the show.

_Monsters... all of them._

A cage had been installed in the stone arena. Modo was locked inside it, his neck chain taut, forcing him to face the men torturing the tan-furred mouse; his dear, helpless friend, pinned down and defenceless against them. A whole _queue_ of men, taking it in turns.

Throttle had fallen forwards, his face pressing into the vomit he had been forced to regurgitate a few minutes ago. It didn't look like he was going to get back up this time. There were deep, jagged lines at the back of his knees were they had struck him, making it harder and harder for him to support himself when they hauled him to his feet again. And again. And again. This time he wasn't even trying. He rolled onto his side, groaning through the gag with his eyes closed, desperately blocking out the faces of his abusers. They had taken his glasses away, but he could still make them out. All those jeering faces. He couldn't take it anymore. A blissful numbness crept over him, and he slipped silently into merciful unconsciousness.

"Noo, Throttle NOOO!" Modo didn't care what they did to him, he had to get to his friend, he** had** to protect him.

The Pit Boss turned to the caged mouse, looking at him as if he had just realised he was there.

"Does the poor little mousey want his turn?" he mocked, signalling to his cronies that it was time to swap them over.

Modo fought hard, but the chains that held him were strong, and the men pulling them were no weaklings. Months of minimal rations had severely weakened the grey mouse. His ribs were showing through his lacklustre pelt, and his muscles were starting to waste as his body tried desperately to find the fuel to keep him going. He had no body fat to speak of, and he constantly felt sick. His tail twitched almost all the time now.

For the briefest second he was able to touch his friend, the limp body brushing against his as they hauled him into the cage. He started to sob. He just wanted to hold him, and have him, or someone, _anyone_, hold him back. "Throttle..." he whispered, looking at the broken body in the cage.

He didn't even fight them as they forced open his mouth, pressing something down into his throat, making him expel the remains of the one and only meal he had had that day. He closed his eyes. It didn't matter if they gagged him or not, he wouldn't cry out. He was vaguely aware of the warm sensation spreading over his tangled fur, and the acrid smell that accompanied it. He closed his eyes tighter, grimacing. He was glad Throttle wasn't awake to see what followed, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't erase the images in his own mind, nor block out the raucous celebration erupting around him. It had taken them five months, 26 days and 22 hours, but they had finally broken the gentle, giant mouse.

* * *

"Are you sure this is the place, sweetheart?" Vinnie peered nervously over the edge of the ravine, his tail wrapped around the metal crash barrier behind him. It was supposed to stop unsuspecting drivers careering into the murky depths below, but for now it served to stop the giddy mouse losing his footing. He didn't normally have a problem with heights... but this wasn't height. This was depth. And he couldn't even see the bottom of what was known to him now as 'The Pits'.

"Unless you can think of any other giant craters housing every renegade criminal this city has ever produced hiding somewhere we haven't checked, then yeah.. this has got to be it. This is where he said they'd be anyway."

Vinnie snorted. He didn't trust that bloated bigot one bit, but Charley had convinced him to go along with it anyway. _If this is a trap, I swear he's going to pay big time. I'm sick of him messing us around_, _messing up our city, messing with our lives._

Charley sensed the tension in the white mouse. It certainly hadn't been easy getting him to consent to a meeting, let alone the part where she asked him _not_ to start firing at everyone in sight - not until they had at least heard him out. Neither party trusted the other to not make a move, and so the decision had been made to hold the meet on neutral ground. An abandoned warehouse on the edge of town had been chosen, far from any prying eyes, law enforcement and, more importantly, anything inflammable or explosive.

Much to her and Vinnie's surprise, the big cheese had come alone.

"What the h-? What, no goons?" The startled mouse was severely disappointed. He had been hyping himself up all morning, ready for fight a whole army of Limburger's underlings should he need to. This really was an anticlimax.

"No you moronic mouse, I really didn't see the point. Now can we please make this quick, I have a life of crime to get back to and all this do-gooding is giving me an ulcer."

Charley clamped her hand over Vinnie's gob before he could say something they both later regretted. "Not now Vinnie" she hissed, "If he knows where Throttle and Modo are let's find that out first." _If Limburger's lying you can pay him back later._

"So, err, you going to tell us where they are then?" Vinnie raised an eyebrow. He looked into the purple-tinged eyes behind the human mask the fish wore, determined to find any clue that he was being less than sincere.

"Here, take this, it'll tell you everything you need to know." Limburger handed a padded envelope to Charley, who took it from him gingerly, expecting it to disintegrate or something.

"It's not a bomb, as much as I wish it were. Just promise me one thing. When you get them out, don't think this changes anything. I want the satisfaction of destroying you myself." _And I don't like that there is someone beyond my control meddling in my city._ Limburger shuddered. From the intel his confidants had given him, the pits were not somewhere even he would want to do business in. Not unless he could find some major advantage in it.

"Now if that's everything I really must be off. Business to attend to and all that. Ta-ta!"

And with that he climbed into the purple limousine that had pulled up outside, and left before either mouse or mechanic could stop him.

_If i'm really lucky the Pit Boss will capture them too, and I won't have to spend any more time worrying about those meddlesome mice. Pity they will probably succeed in the rescue._

Limburger looked over his shoulder at the retreating figures behind him. Lord Camembert would probably have him on a fish hook if he ever found out about this. But better the enemy you know... and he had many more years experience dealing with Martian mice than debased psychopaths living on the fringes of society.

* * *

_Please don't be dead; please, please don't be dead_.

He drew his tail tip lightly over the unmoving form next to him. He felt a shudder, and saw the bony chest rise as he finally took a breath. _Thank you. Don't do that to me again. _

The grey mouse had lain and watched his friend for the last hour, praying hard that each breath he took wasn't the last. There had been a moment when he thought he had stopped breathing, and he waited, heart pounding, for a full 30 seconds before there was any sign of life.

_He looks so frail... please let him be ok_.

He wished he could touch him, cradle him in his arms and let him know he wasn't alone. That it was going to be ok. That he was here for him. But the bars separating their two cages made it impossible, although it was a small mercy he could reach him with his tail. Just. He drew the long appendage back into his own cage. He dreaded to think what they might do if they caught him doing that. It was a miracle they had kept their tails this long, he didn't want to give them a reason to change that.

_Oh god, there's so much blood. Why is there so much blood?_

They had brought the second cage into the pavilion after they had finished with Modo. He was barely able to move, every part of him drained of energy. In its place there was only pain; physical, emotional, every kind of pain there was. The Pit Boss had decided it would be best to leave the two mice in here for the night, to give them time to '_think about what they were_' he said. The jeering crowd had finally left, taking with them the lanterns, leaving behind the stench of cruelty and fear. And their crime that had deserved such a terrible punishment?

Modo closed his eyes, wondering at how anyone could treat members of their own species so appallingly, let alone another sentient being. Throttle had been so terrified of the men that had become their tormentors, and so weak from lack of food and over-work, he had broken down that morning as they approached his cage. Until that point he had managed to hold it until he was at least out in the slave pit. That morning the guards pulled him out of his soiled cage, and beat him in disgust. He might have got away with just that, but in his mounting panic he had soiled one of the guard's shoes as well.

They had dragged the petrified mouse straight to the pavilion. It had been at the Pit Boss's request that Modo be 'invited' along as well.

His head ached. He had lost precious fluids, and there was nothing to replace them. _Don't cry you idiot, you'll die of dehydration_. But every time he looked over at the other cage he couldn't stop the salty tide down his face. _Dying might be preferable right now. If Throttle stops breathing, I would quite happily join him_.

The tan-furred chest rose again. _Don't give up. Not yet._

* * *

Somewhere on the edge of the city that was Chicago, a large crane waited. It was parked up by the deepest 'man-made' crater anyone had ever seen, and had a set of very long steel ropes coiled tightly at the base of its long arm. The ends of these ropes were free, hanging over the precipice from the tip of the crane, with three large hooks at the end of them. One had already lowered the white mouse and his red racing bike as far as it could reach (it stopped about ten feet shy of the bottom, not bad really considering). Charley waited anxiously by the heavy machinery, guarding it from any interference. This was far too important to screw up now.

The same thought was extended to the mouse as he descended. "No heroics, just snatch and grab. I want you all back in one piece!" Charley knew it was a futile request. Knowing Vinnie the whole place would be lit up like a Christmas tree before he had even got sight of his bros. She wasn't far wrong.

* * *

Modo's ears twitched. He had felt the ground shaking, and now he was sure he could hear explosions. Something was going on outside, something either very, very good, or something completely the opposite. As much as he hated his life right now, and was close to wanting it all to end, that primal fear residing inside him like anyone else did not welcome the thought of being buried under several tonnes of rubble.

He listened, hoping to pick up some kind of clue as to what was going on. For several minutes there was nothing. And then, suddenly, there it was.

A sound so wonderful he could have burst with joy. They were going to be rescued. At long, long last, they had found them, and soon they would be free. Free, alive, and back where they belonged.

He could hear a whooping cry above the purr of the racer. Vinnie pushed it on, roaring through laser fire and missiles and the shouts of the pit crew. Modo tried to shout out, to let the searching mouse know they were here, that they were still alive.

_Don't leave us here. Please don't leave us._

But his parched throat refused. He had nothing left inside him, and he lay his head back onto the cold metal. He would just have to hope Vinnie found them in time.

* * *

"...Bros? Is that you in there?"

He leaned his head in through the archway, his bike's headlight illuminating something in the darkness within. He thought he could hear something moving in there, and although he couldn't see them, was felt sure he recognised something else. Something feint. Something masked by a wall of interference.

The smell in the circular stone room was nauseating. The rank odour of stale blood, sweat and ammonia was so overpowering the mouse could taste it. He stepped forward, his boots feeling the way though the dark. It was no good, he needed more light. He reached into the pouch on his green bandoleers and pulled out a flare. It produced only a tiny aura of harsh light, but it was what he needed. He had turned off the bike's headlight before he left it, not wanting to leave such an obvious beacon for someone else to notice.

He stepped closer to the objects his bike had pointed out to him. His heart was hammering loudly in his chest. What was he going to find down here?

"Holy mother..." Vinnie crouched by the first cage, not wanting to believe the pile of skin and bone within was his missing friend. He glanced at the second cage. It had to be them... but he sincerely wished it wasn't.

Fighting the urge to be violently sick, he ran out of the pavilion and leapt onto his bike. He sat there for a few moments, rubbing away the tears burning his eyes and panting hard, trying to expel the revolting stench that had invaded his senses. It was going to take a few hits to blast open those cages, but first he really needed some help. "Come on sweetheart we gotta go find us some lady friends of yours, and fast."

The view screen on the control panel was flashing, two dots showing the position of the locator beacons. It was a wonder they were still active. With a quick glance at it, and then back at the stone room, Vinnie raced off into the open expanse of the pits. _Don't worry bros i'm coming back. Just hold on a little longer_.

* * *

_Three weeks later._

He opened the door to the spare room, and crept slowly inside. The curtains were still drawn shut, despite the fact it was nearly noon. But it was necessary. As was his careful, steady movement towards the bed. He didn't want to frighten them. A sudden move, a loud noise. Even a sneeze could set them back. And having spent nearly six months with barely any light, natural or otherwise, their eyes were far too photosensitive for the curtains to be opened just yet.

They lay together in the spare bed, though it was barely big enough to contain them. They clung to each other so tightly it took Vinnie and Charley all their strength to pull them apart, which was a frequent, necessary evil. It was almost a good thing the two mice were too weak to fight them. There were so many cuts to keep clean and stitch, plus the myriad of welts from repeated physical impact, and pressure sores from lying on the hard ground for so long. Their shoulders were similarly marked from wearing the leather harnesses. And once the iron shackles had been removed there was another set of raw, weeping wounds to cleanse; a result of the cuffs rubbing incessantly on the sensitive joints.

Before she could even tackle all the external wounds, both mice had been in urgent need of a bath. She had filled her tub with hot water and a soothing antiseptic solution, and had Vinnie lift each mouse in turn into it. They had worked together to wash off the host of dried blood and other bodily fluids from their matted fur. Afterwards each mouse had been lain on a clean towel, and she had begun. She must have sent Vinnie to the drug store more times than she cared to think of, replenishing the various medical supplies she needed. The first time he had gone, she had taken a deep breath and started to tend to one particular set of injuries she felt certain Vinnie would not want to know about. He had returned to find the exhausted mechanic weeping, still dabbing the blood oozing from under their tails.

Three weeks on, the physical injuries were starting to mend. Charley had become an expert at stitching by the time she had finished on them, and the open wounds she had dealt with were knitting together nicely. She could do little about the older ones though, those scars would be pretty awful. Not to mention the ones she found on each of their thighs. She sincerely hoped that enough fur would grow back to cover those ones up, or else the visual reminder of their six month incarceration would haunt them forever.

The IVs she had inserted in their arms had finally been removed, and they were starting to eat again. Nothing too rich; they couldn't keep much down as it was. She had tried to offer them porridge at first, but both mice had almost collapsed when she even mentioned the word. It would take some time, but their body weights were already improving.

The psychological injuries, however, would take much longer to heal. She wasn't sure what had really happened down there, but from what Vinnie had described it must have been horrendous. She had no idea how long they had been in those shackles, it was plainly for a long time by the wounds they had left, and more tellingly when the mice had first tried to get up from their bed it hadn't been on two legs. The rest of the details she could only imagine. Six months with no meaningful physical contact, other than when they had been dragged from their cages or punched to the ground. No wonder they wouldn't let go of each other. And no wonder every time she lifted her arm too quickly in their presence they flinched away from her. In addition to that, six months of not having the use of a bathroom... Charley was getting sick of changing the bedding. It didn't help that Vinnie kept charging into their room every five minutes to check they were still there. When she realised it was his fault they kept wetting the bed she had banned him from going anywhere near them at a pace faster than a snail.

And so he crept into that room as slowly, calmly, and quietly as possible. He knelt down by the bed and stroked the forehead of the tan mouse, who moaned softly, not opening his eyes. Behind him a ruby red eye was watching him intently, its owner tightening his grip on the other mouse in his arms.

"It's alright Modo" Vinnie whispered. "It's me. I'm just checking you're ok. I'm not going to hurt you." He had to say the same thing every time he went in the room.

The grey mouse loosened his grasp. After a few moments he nodded, and Vinnie sat down on the bed beside them. Throttle shifted slightly beneath the covers, and then, at last, slowly opened his eyes.

Vinnie smiled. Charley assured him it wouldn't be too long before they were strong enough to stand by themselves (be it on two legs or four). But for now, just seeing his two bros open their eyes and gaze up into his was enough. One day he would tell them about what had happened in their absence. And one day they might even tell him their own story. But for now, just for now, he had them both back, and that was really all that mattered to him.


	6. Road Ravens

Can't...stop... writing... ahem. OK so here is the next instalment - strictly part 3 not 2 (I'm still writing my version of 'the pits' - i'm only partway through and it's already been an emotional roller-coaster. What happens in it you will have to wait a bit longer to see, hopefully it will be worth it).

I thought a bit of light relief was going to be needed for when I do get part 2 up, so here goes. *Update* The pits is now up, and you might be wondering about the 'recovery' time between the two stories. Obviously our furry heroes will have spent a long time recuperating, this following story clearly occurs some time later when the mice are fit enough to resume their fight against crime. I wrote this story before I had completed chapter 2, so there is some disparity between the two in terms of timeline.

As always, my lack of ownership of the biker mice has been duly noted.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong.

3. Road Ravens

The arm around him was almost as thick as his entire body, and the raw muscular power it possessed would have sent an anaconda fleeing for its life. Jimmy Mac was a big man. Even as a child he had been huge, quickly over shadowing his father (who was no dwarf himself by any stretch of the imagination). By the age of 18 he stood at nearly eight feet, weighed nearly 300 pounds, and, by his sheer size alone, sent just about everybody diving for cover when he walked into a room. It was a miracle he could even fit through the door.

The mouse was not exactly short, standing a fairly impressive six feet eight inches himself, but relative to Jimmy he was tiny. And pulled into his mighty embrace, the comparatively small creature was struggling to breathe.

"I always wondered what it would be like to squeeze the life out of someone" the giant mused, his voice virtually still bellowing even when softly spoken. He pulled his arms a little tighter. _Yes_... he was sure he felt something crack. The tan-furred mouse-man in his arms groaned, the air being forced unwillingly from his lungs. The pressure on his thorax prevented him from replacing the oxygen he so desperately needed.

Throttle's mind was racing. _Where were his two bros? Was Charley ok? What would they do to her when they had finished with him? _His vision was slowly dimming, small bright flecks sparkled amidst a smoky background, and he felt the thoughts slipping further and further away. He wasn't even aware of the pain his body was in.

_Can't believe i'm being crushed to death... again_. He managed that one last thought of irony before slipping blissfully unconscious.

Charley was still struggling against the arms of one of the other hooded cronies in 'The Old Raven.' The shack-like bar was on the outskirts of the city, and typically attracted bikers, truckers and a few fearless day trippers – until, that was, the Road Ravens started tearing up the place. Now the only customers it saw wore silky black hoods over their face, loosely designed to look like a raven's head.

"Let me go!" she yelled, stomping her leather boots onto one of the goon's. He yelped shrilly, and pushed her off him to nurse his throbbing foot. _Glad now I wore the spiked heeled ones today_.

She leapt over to the unconscious tan mouse, who had been dropped to the floor like a rag doll. "If he's dead I swear I will hunt you down and kill you all while to sleep you UGLY, FOUL BRUTES!"

As valiant as the female mechanic sounded, it drew only sniggers from the watching men.

"Ooo scar-eee lady... better watch out boys, she might bring her hand bag!"

Charley glared at the masked man who had taunted her. If only he knew what she kept in her handbag, she thought wryly, then he wouldn't be quite so audacious. _Men_. _Why were they always such sexist pigs?_

Thankfully Throttle still had a heart beat, and was just about breathing. Once the pressure had been released from his chest it had responded automatically to the need for air. It was a good job the poor mouse was asleep, because that desperately deep gasp would have really, really hurt.

Also thankfully, the cavalry had finally arrived. The blue and white oil tanker crashing through the wall of the bar contained the two other biker mice, who leapt out to help their lady friend and the fallen mouse by her knees.

"Whoa, what happened to him?" Exclaimed Modo, whilst simultaneously firing his arm cannon at every goon in sight.

"I'll explain later, help me get him up – gently!" she glared at the white mouse who was in the process of slipping his left arm under Throttle's body. His other arm was still in plaster, broken earlier that week whilst saving Charley from crashing the tanker she had been driving, until gassed unconscious by the road ravens and left to her fate. Modo had broken his left leg in the same incident - Throttle had had to shove him quite roughly out of the path of the careering, driver-less truck.

They managed to get the limp bundle of fur into the cab of the truck, and drove rapidly away before Jimmy Mac and his cronies could flatten them all with their own, heavily armoured tanker. The Road Sucker was Jimmy Mac's newest toy, and he loved nothing more than driving it _over_ things he disliked.

* * *

"It's alright bro, you're safe... everything's fine now" They grey mouse sat at Throttle's head, lightly dabbing his face with a cool, damp cloth. He groaned feebly. The pain in his body was awful, but there was something else equally as troubling.

"...my bike... I have to get... my bike..." he gasped, every word itself agony to produce.

"Err no problem bro, your bike wasn't exactly impressed we had to leave her behind either" Vinnie smirked. He would never forget the look on Jimmy Mac's face when the rider-less bike shot out the Road Sucker's tires, causing it to jack knife off the freeway and overturn into a ditch. After that it had been quite easy for the two mice to put the Road Raven's and their boss out of action.

"Yeah, she took out that truck like a woman truly scorned" Modo chuckled, explaining in full to their injured friend what had happened.

"And then when she got back she had a few words to say to you too, guys."

Charley had entered the lounge area of her garage carrying a large bowl of warm water, a bag of plaster and a roll of clean bandages.

Modo and Vinnie had gone very quiet. "Oh, did they conveniently forget to tell you that bit? Hmm... let's see..."

"Sweetheart, please!" Vinnie blurted, blushing so hard his white fur had a pinkish glow. Modo was suddenly very occupied with a hole in his pants.

"Oh yeah, I remember" the mechanic went on mercilessly, "we got back to the garage and she came right in after us, clearly _not_ amused. I didn't know you had installed that stun ray I made for you... nice bit of modification you added too." Charley winked, and Throttle smiled back weakly.

He could imagine the two mice writhing on the floor, unable to consciously move themselves but twitching violently nonetheless... It had occurred to him recently one day just how incapacitating being tickled could be.

"How long did it last?" he whispered at the mechanic, trying very hard not to laugh (it was far too painful).

"Oh... about three hours... give or take." She grinned. Vinnie and Modo shook their heads incredulously. They never knew their bro had such capacity for evil.

"Now then..." said Charley, half to herself. "Where did I put my medi-kit...?

She rose from her seat by the make-shift bed to search for the bag, and after rummaging through it for a few minutes she stood up, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"Aha, here we are!"

The three mice nervously eyed the objects in the mechanic's hands.

"Uh... Charley-ma'am... what are they for?" Modo had never seen such a determined, almost devious look on the woman's face before. She was holding a small sponge, a piece of cloth, and a large roll of industrial strength duct tape.

"Just taking precautions... now then... you take his legs Modo, and you his arms" she went on calmly, gesturing to the white mouse. "Throttle, this won't hurt a bit - I promise."

Throttle's eyes widened as she approached. For some inexplicable reason, this time he really didn't believe her.


	7. We're going to to Cheesyland

Took me a little while to get my head around this one, but here is my take on what Limburger could have got up to in that theme park of his (if he had thought about it a little harder). He has to have a little fun sometimes, even if it is short-lived.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

4. We're going to Cheesyland

The place was absolutely packed. The line at the entrance never seemed to end, and the average waiting time just to get into the park was bordering on half an hour. A hard-hitting advertising campaign in the weeks prior to the opening of Chicago's newest theme park had really done its job, and now Cheesyland was on course to become the must-see day out for the citizens of the windy city.

It was the offer of free hot dogs that had caught the attention of the biker mice. Vinnie in particular had taken great advantage of this lure, although he quickly realised that his stomach and his middle-ear did not see eye to eye when it came to the amusement rides themselves. His first experience was not exactly enjoyable.

"Trust you to spoil things Vinnie" muttered Modo as he lifted the wobbly-kneed mouse out of the car of the waltzer. The white fur on his face was tinged with a delicate shade of green, and he clutched his snout and belly in a manner that suggested they might somehow come apart from him.

"Urgh... don't think my stomach likes this place... bros..." The last words was accompanied by a loud belch, and a young family nearby hurried quickly away. Charley had spent some time apologising profusely to just about everyone else who had been on the ride, especially the ones who had been _below_ the sickly mouse. At least three kids had to be escorted to the nearest rest room for an impromptu wash.

"I think we had better find a ride that doesn't involve spinning around... or sudden drops." The tan mouse glanced nervously at the operator of the waltzer. He wanted nothing more right now than to hide, the dirty looks they were getting by staff and customers alike were embarrassing, and they were attracting far more attention than they bargained for. They were supposed to be blending in with the thronging crowds, enabling them to take a surreptitious look around the place and see what Limburger was really up to. There was no way he had spent billions on an amusement park purely for the public's pleasure.

"How about that one over there?" Charley had spotted the classic cob-webbed adorned entrance of the park's haunted house ride.

"Uh, is it... you know... _safe_, Charley-girl?"

"Safe?" Charley thought for a moment that Vinnie had some kind of hidden phobia of ghosts and skeletons. "Should be, yeah, everything's made of foam and plastic so I don't think you're going to have any _real_ trouble in there."

"What? You think i'm scared of it? No way sweetheart, **this** Martian mouse is scared of nothing!"

For a moment Charley held a look of confusion on her face, until Modo clarified. "I think he just wants to know if he needs to bring a sick bag."

"Oh, right, err silly me... no of course not...the car moves slowly round the building to give you time to see everything. No bumps, no spinning, no drops. Perfectly safe."

* * *

A light was blinking on the receiver on the wall, indicating the caller was still on hold. He tried to ignore it a while longer, too busy enjoying watching his latest resource acquisition scheme taking place before his eyes. The purple-suited man at the window smiled. All that destruction taking place right under their noses, and no one had even noticed! So far so good, although it would be inevitable that _they_ would show up at some point.

_Those nosey do-gooders, they always try to find a way to spoil my fun_.

He was frowning a little, but it soon faded as another, much more agreeable thought entered his mind. _Not this time though mice, not this time. Go digging around too deep and you might find you can't get back out again._

It was time to find out whether the latest update was what he hoped it would be. Limburger waddled his portly figure over to the telephone and picked it up.

"What is it Karbunkle, can't you give me a minute to indulge in my own brilliance?"

The dodgy doctor on the other end of the line paused for a moment, wondering how on earth his boss could be so damn naive sometimes. _Honestly, he is setting himself up for disappointment the way he carries on._ Karbunkle was almost certain the whole scheme would end up a failure, as per usual.

_Pride before a fall, everyone knows that._

"I have wonderful news, my putrid pontificator; the biker mice have been sighted in Cheesyland and are about to enter the haunted house."

"Excellent, excellent. Be sure to notify me when you set your plan in motion you cunning concoctor of chaos, and have that idiot Greasepit ready the view screen. I don't want to miss a single moment once the fun starts." _Better that than him ruining everything, the dim-witted dunce. The worst he can do in here is electrocute himself, and that wouldn't be a bad thing._

The oily-skinned oaf of a goon had already annoyed Limburger that morning by leaving open the door to the operating room and warehouse for the concealed excavation machinery. The seething Plutarkian had to spend an hour convincing one very curious group of grannies that it was a perfectly normal thing for a theme park to have diggers and forklifts stashed away under the rides. Greasepit had been punished by being told he had to personally accompany each of the elderly ladies on the boat though the 'tunnel of love'.

After replacing the handset of the phone onto its cradle, Limburger returned to the window with a gloating smile on his face. Those mice were about to get the shock of their lives, he thought to himself gleefully.

* * *

The queue for the ghost train had finally dwindled until there was only one group of eager children waiting ahead of them. The three mice and their female friend had waited patiently, chatting genially amongst themselves about the weather, the TV schedule and other trivial matters. This was frequently interspersed with teasing Vinnie about his stomach's lack of staying power, and how well his face's new colour matched Charley's eyes. The mechanic had blushed profusely at this, and after a furtive glance at the white mouse had discreetly loosened her grip on his left hand.

"Ah, at last – it's our turn!" Charley was glad there was something to draw the two larger mice's attention away from the awkward moment. The train that pulled up at the entrance of the haunted house actually contained only two carriages, each of which could carry two passengers. Charley grabbed hold of Throttle's tan-furred arm and pulled him into the first, leaving Vinnie to clamber into the second with Modo. She caught the white mouse's eye for a moment, but ignored the confused and somewhat slighted look gave her back.

"So, what exactly is this ride all about again Charley-ma'am? Is the place haunted for real or what?" Modo sounded slightly anxious at the prospect of facing a real ghost. Monsters he could deal with, as anything solid he could simply blast out of his way with his laser-firing arm-cannon. He wasn't too sure how he would deal with something he couldn't actually physically touch.

"Nah, these corn ball attractions are all smoke and mirrors. Just papier-mâché figures and plastic statues and stuff. And video projections – for the ghosts that is." Charley was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. If the mice actually thought the fake skeletons, vampires and other monsters jumping out at them left, right and centre were a threat, she didn't want to think how she would explain to the operators why exactly the place was trashed/up in flames/blasted to pieces or whatever else the mice decided was the proper way to deal with their supposed attackers. Perhaps she had better re-iterate that it wasn't real, or else they could find themselves in quite a bit of trouble by the end of it. "It's like I said before guys, it's perfectly safe."

Despite her efforts, it wasn't very long before the mice began to get jumpy. After Modo had vaporised a plastic skeleton that fell out of a coffin hidden in the wall (causing Vinnie to scream like a little girl... they would never let him live that one down), and Throttle had nearly derailed the carriages trying to punch the projected image of a headless ghoul, Charley had to resort to desperate measures to try to calm them down.

"If you guys don't keep all your limbs inside this car and sit still until we get to the exit, I swear to god i'm not only _cancelling_ your cable subscription when we get home, but i'm telling every b***** hot dog vendor in the city to refuse to serve you... for the next two months!"

The three mice were horrified Charley could even think of being so mean. With order restored, the tacky train ride continued onwards without any more drama. Vinnie was still grumbling about his delicate stomach, whilst Modo lambasted him for being such a persistent complainer. Throttle had sat on his hands, determined to not further annoy the lady mechanic.

The train started to slow down, and then for no apparent reason stopped completely. The spooky background music (complete with wails, moans and typically unearthly screams) that had been accompanying them throughout their journey had also ceased, and the train's passengers sat there in puzzled silence, wondering if this was the end of the ride or not. The exit was nowhere in sight.

"Uh... think there's a problem or is this just part of the attraction?" Modo craned his head to see if there was any sign of one of the maintenance crew coming to fix the train, but there was no indication of anyone besides them in the tunnel.

"Probably just a fault. I'm sure the operators will have us moving again in a minute." _No need to panic, the crummy mechanics on these things are always breaking down..._ Charley reasoned to herself, not wanting to think the worst.

"This is so BORING!" exclaimed Vinnie unexpectedly, causing all three of his companions to startle from their seats.

"Jeez Vincent, did you really have to do that?" A panting Throttle was giving the white mouse a pained yet withering look. It was bad enough having crappy imitations of dead things scaring the life out of you without your own bro adding his version of fright tactics into the mix.

Vinnie crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. "It's not my fault Limburger can't be bothered to build the thing properly!"

"_Shh_, I think I hear something..." Modo had his ears pricked up, listening intently for the sound of footsteps that would hopefully indicate someone had come in to fix the broken train. _Must have been imagining it_.. he thought when only silence followed, but he wasn't entirely convinced. There had definitely been something, and it had come from a point just ahead of them.

Without warning all of the lights went out, and they were plunged abruptly into total darkness. Before they could even register their surprise at this, the carriages came to life again and continued slowly along the tracks. There was a harsh screeching of metal coming from their left, and with a jolt the small train turned and set off towards the source of the unpleasant sound. The mice realised their ride was no longer on a level track, and that it was not only heading downwards but rapidly gathering speed. They could see nothing in the pervading blackness, but they did detect what seemed awfully like the sound of a metal door sliding shut behind them.

"Uh oh... I don't like the feel of this bros..." Throttle was clinging onto the safety bar across his lap so hard his fingers were beginning to cramp. He didn't like what was happening one bit, and it was starting to feel suspiciously like a trap.

"I thought you said the track is all flat sweetheart?" Unlike his older cousin Vinnie was actually enjoying the change of pace, the earlier overdose of hot dogs apparently no longer an issue.

"Yeah, I did. This is NOT what normally happens in a haunted house." Charley was of the same mind as Throttle. This latest development could only be a bad thing.

Modo hadn't said a word since the lights went out, but as the train levelled out again he cleared his throat and leant forward to the car in front. "Charley-ma'am?"

"You alright there Modo? I think we're slowing down now... maybe this is the end after all."

"Uh, yeah, hopefully it is... I don't think I like this ride much anymore, do you?"

Charley patted him on the arm and noticed that his fur was drenched with sweat. "It'll be fine Modo, everything's going to be alright you'll see." She didn't really believe it, but right now it was important to keep everyone calm so that they could figure out how to get out of there. Panic would only make things worse.

The train slowed further before gradually coming to a halt. Charley and the mice realised the carriage had come to the end of the track, and that they were going to have to go the rest of the way through the haunted house on foot.

"Phew-wee it's dark down here... can't even see my own hand in front of my face." Modo's voice was still quavering slightly, but like Charley he sensed that it was better to remain calm and keep a clear head.

"Yeah, how we going to find our way out without any lights on?" The white-furred mouse waved his hand in front of Charley's face, testing to see if the human woman's night vision was any better than his. She kept on at him all the time about eating something called carrots, but apparently they hadn't made any appreciable difference in her sensitivity to low-level light. _I knew she was making it all up...yucky horrible things._

The mouse misaimed his waggling hand and whacked the woman on the nose by mistake, and she responded with a sharp punch in his ribs. "Vinnie! Are you thick or something? – Light a flare you idiot!"

Feeling a little foolish, the white mouse quickly pulled one of the expanding flares from the pouch on his bandoleers and struck it like a match against his legs. It hissed slightly as the chemicals within began to combust, and the small glow of yellow emitted from its tip provided just enough light for the mouse to see his friend's faces.

"Got any more of those bro?" Throttle didn't think one flare between the four of them was going to be enough.

"Sure thing, here" Vinnie tossed each of his companions a lit flare of their own. The combined light of the four glowing sticks revealed a number of passages leading from their current position.

"I think it's best if we split up; we can cover more ground that way. Modo you take this first tunnel; Vinnie, Charley you take the middle two. I'll take this one" Throttle gestured to the entrance of the last tunnel with his flare. "If you come to a dead end, or find a way through, come back and wait by the train. We don't want to lose anyone down here." Even though the mouse felt nervous at the claustrophobic environment he hid it well. He was the leader of the group after all, and it was his job to get them out of there in one piece.

* * *

The screen set up in his office was still blank, and the fish-like man was growing impatient. Any second now the mice would find themselves re-directed to his subterranean house of horrors he had installed under the (otherwise quite boring) ghost train, and he did not want to miss a moment of the action. Especially as he was going to have some modicum of control over the surprises he had 'purpose-built' for them to encounter.

Limburger cradled the joystick in his white-gloves hands lovingly. He was so excited at the prospect of scaring those bothersome bikers silly that he kept pressing the buttons and jiggling the stick, so fervently in fact Karbunkle had threatened to take it off him before he broke it.

The mad doctor was now seated at the main control panel for the contraptions hidden in the underground maze he had built. Greasepit was still fiddling with the wiring for the view screen.

"Are you ever going to get that screen working you insufferable ignoramus? Or do I have to do EVERYTHING myself around here?" Limburger was just about to throw the joystick in the direction of the dithering goon's head when suddenly the screen flickered. It now showed a number of small pictures, each a live-feed from the multitude of concealed low-light and infra-red cameras that were filming the hidden passageways.

"Aaah, excellent..." Limburger lowered his hands again into his lap. "Let the games begin dear doctor... and have someone bring me some popcorn." A huge grin split open his masked face as the cameras picked up the wide-eyed faces of the mice and mechanic. _Those irritating idealists are really going to wish they hadn't come snooping round __**my**__ theme park, I will make certain of that!_

* * *

The tunnel he had chosen seemed to go on forever. There was little light, even with the flare he clutched illuminating the way, and he got the feeling that he was going round in circles. So far there had been nothing of worry and he was seriously considering turning back. Not that he had any idea which way exactly was back, as the passageway he had elected to explore was a jumbled warren of multiple choices. _I knew I should have marked the walls with something_.

Vinnie decided he had better just keep on going until he recognised somewhere he might have been before. Eventually though the tunnel widened and the mouse realised he was now standing in a large cavern. It wasn't an open space, however, as he had emerged from the narrow passage to confront a wall of tall, old fashioned mirrors.

The mouse looked at himself in the first, nodding appreciatively at his reflection. _Damn i'm such a good looking Martian..._

The flare in his hand dimmed and went out, its fuel completely spent. Before Vinnie had grabbed a second the cavern was once again illuminated, this time by the soft incandescent glow of electric bulbs. The mouse looked around to see if there was anyone with him.

"Hello..?" He called out timidly, unsure if he actually wanted to meet whoever might be lurking down in the mirrored room. _Someone has to be here_, _or else those lights just turned themselves on_. No one answered, and the mouse pressed cautiously onwards.

The mirrors in front of him where lined up side by side, and at the end of the row there was a gap, leading to another row of the reflective structures perpendicular to the first. As Vinnie carefully picked his way around them, not wanting to accidentally walk into the glass sheets, he began to notice that the mirrors had been arranged into a series of passages. A mirrored maze.

Each set of mirrors he encountered had their own special effects. The first were just plain glass, but the next few stretched his reflection so he appeared taller, or squashed him into a round blob-like figure. Some mirrors made the mouse look fat, or thinner, or bent his image into a wave-shaped distortion. One set had Vinnie engrossed for quite some time; as he passed from one to the other his fur changed from white to green to blue and so on, a different colour for every mirror in that row. He was particularly pleased when he came across one that made every muscle on his body stand out like a body-builder's.

As the mouse strutted on deeper into the glass-walled labyrinth the mirror images of himself became less and less appealing. He almost crashed backwards into the row behind him when he saw what appeared to be a whole army of white mice staring angrily back at him. Further on he found a mirror which had no reflection of him at all. He started at it in amazement, trying to figure out how it might have worked. He pressed himself right up to the glass and tried to see if he could see through it. A face suddenly appeared right in front of him and he screamed in shock, tripping over his tail in his hurry to get away. The face had a single eye and pointed teeth, and was grinning insanely at him like some kind of demented mutant. Vinnie scrambled to his feet as fast as his trembling legs would allow, and scuttled off into the next row.

_Holy cow that was freakin' weird! Whoever thought that one up seriously needs help._

Vinnie was growing tired of this never-ending hall of mirrors, and made to pull his laser from its holster. _I'll just shoot the lot to pieces, it'll be much quicker... and a lot less creepy_. It took him a moment to realise he had reached the end of the maze, and that he was facing the last mirror. One single pane of glass, framed in a bronze pedestal. The white mouse stopped to look at his reflection one last time, before sinking bodily to the floor.

* * *

Charley had finally reached what must have been the end of her tunnel. Aside from the grotesque-looking mannequin that had dropped on her a few yards from the train (she had screamed loudly when the white-painted face with a fang-toothed grin met her own. _How the hell do they know i'm scared of clowns..?_) and a multitude of spiders, both living and fake, had poured out of nowhere and crawled like a hairy army up her legs (another blood-curdling scream ensued, follow by frantic blasts from her laser pistol), there really hadn't been anything terrible waiting for her in the passage. On the down side, however, she had reached a dead end with no obvious means of exiting.

_Oh well, guess I'll have to resort to the old fashioned method_ thought the mechanic as she delved into her tool bag. Her trusty stock of C4 had never failed her yet.

Once she had selected a likely point on the wall (hollow sounding, indicating an open space behind it) she left her charges in place whilst she headed back to the train for her friends. It didn't take her long to retrace her steps, given as there was a trail of dead spiders and bits of clown costume littering her earlier path. Once she reached her starting point she realised that she was not the first to return.

Modo was huddled inside the carriage, and showed clear signs of distress. He looked up at the approaching woman with his eyes wild and staring.

"Ch...Charley-ma'am, thank goodness you're back..." He faltered, choking a little on his words.

"Are you alright Modo? What happened - did you find a way out?"

"There so many of them, I couldn't find them all..." he whispered, his hands wringing together as he spoke.

"So many of what, Modo? Are you hurt? Did someone attack you?" Charley was seriously worried about the mouse; she knew from the moment the lights went out that this was not going to be easy for him.

"All those kids, all that crying... I tried to find them, to help them...I tried Charley I tried!"

"It's alright Modo, i'm here... we can go find them together..." She hadn't heard any children crying down her passage, but from what Modo was saying it sounded like there were others trapped down here in the dark, and that they really needed their help.

She heaved the big grey mouse to his feet, and gently guided him back to the entrance of the nearest tunnel. "You lead the way big guy... I promise you we will find those kids."

He sniffed, and took her hand in his. She could feel his pulse racing behind the cold palms.

He led her through the tunnel, which was much easier now there were two flares to light the way. Eventually he came to a stop, and Charley strained her ears to listen. At first there was nothing, and then out of the darkness came a small sob. She stepped towards it and the sob became a loud wail, the pitch of the cry indicating that is had indeed come from a child.

Modo was almost inconsolable, he had tears running down his face as he frantically explored the network of passages, each one seeming to contain the heart-wrenching whimpers and crying of a frightened child. Eventually Modo just stopped, unable to bear that there were children stuck down here, scared and alone, and that he couldn't find them and take them to safety.

At first Charley had joined the gentle giant in his search, but after a while she began to get suspicious. Every time she thought she had reached the source of the voices they abruptly stopped. When this happened in several different passages she began to wonder if there were any children down there at all.

_Aha... what have we here...?_ The woman reached down to a small grid in the stone flooring, and lifted the panel that covered it. Underneath was a small speaker, its wires disappearing into pipe-work below. _That's sick... who would play such a cruel prank? _Charley didn't have to think for long before the blatantly obvious answer came to mind. Limburger had built the park, and also knew enough about their lives to know what really, really frightened each of them. With her it had been spiders and clowns, with poor Modo it had been the distressing sound of children in need.

She made her way back to the fretful form cradling himself in the main passageway.

"It's alright you big soft lug, there's no kids here. Just someone's disgusting idea of a practical joke." Charley showed the horror-struck mouse the speaker she had wrenched from the grid. "See, just a recording played to make you think there were children down here. Someone, and I think we both know who, set this up to mess with us." _How the hell did they know which tunnel we would choose though...?_

She managed to get Modo on his feet again and led him back to the train to wait for the others. Once the grey mouse was sitting back in the carriage and slowly calming himself down (rage at being so maliciously deceived was slowly replacing the earlier anxiety. Modo's red eye now cast an impressive glow around the gloomy cavern), Charley decided she had probably better go and look for the other two mice. She dreaded to think what Limburger had in store for them.

* * *

_That stupid mouse and his unbounded affection for human offspring... pity the meddlesome woman figured it out._

Limburger was sitting on the edge of his large, leather chair; the joystick still gripped tightly in his fat fingers and pummelled in the manner of a video game controller. The view screen had zoomed in on the female mechanic as she guided the larger of the three mice back to the train. There was no sound accompanying this particular camera, but the purple-suited Plutarkian wasn't all that bothered by what they were saying. As far as he was aware there was no way out from his quirky little playground, not unless he pressed the button for the one and only doorway into it. But he wasn't going to do that, he was having far too much of a good time watching the mice from his vantage point. _Like rats in a maze_... How beautifully apt, he thought wryly.

He shifted the controller so that the screen showed images of each of the other mice. The fat fish had thoroughly enjoyed watching the adrenalin charged egomaniac posing in front of the mirrors he had guided him to. It had taken quite some concentration of both him and the mad scientist at the controls to close off certain passages so that he could be directed to the large cavern. Once there they had flicked on the lights to give the mouse a good view of himself, and then they had simply sat back and watched the show unfold.

He zoomed in on the mouse once again, who by now had reached the final mirror in the room. _Yes... I bet he likes what we've done with that one..._ Limburger chuckled and turned up the dial on the speaker. This was one camera he had insisted on having a microphone attached to. He turned the volume to the max and listened. It was only feint, but to his delight he could still here it. The white bundle that had sank to the floor by the bronze-framed looking glass was clearly upset by the reflection before him.

* * *

"Vinnie? Is that you in there?" It had taken Charley ages to find the mirror-filled cavern, but not because she had taken any wrong turns (every alternative route seemed to quickly lead to a dead end). Her flare had finally gone out and she was forced to find her way after the smallest mouse by touch, and it was lucky she had such a good sense of direction.

She had seen the light from the cavern once the passages straightened out, and figuring that Vinnie could be nowhere else she made her way to the end of the tunnel. _I bet he had fun in here..._ Charley knew the white mouse wouldn't have been able to resist taking a good long look at himself here. _Whoever thought of this idea has Vinnie figured out pretty well._

Whilst the woman bemoaned the mouse's incredibly inflated ego, she couldn't help a giggle at the thought of him stopping to pose in front of each and every mirror. She figured this was probably why he had been gone so long, there really were a lot of mirrors down here.

Soon though the woman realised that not all the mirrors would have given the mouse such pleasure to look in. After the bewildering array of spoof mirrors (Charley herself quite liked the one which made her look like she had shed a few pounds, the ideal mirror for a ladies dressing room if ever there was one), the woman noticed the images were getting more and more disturbing. Her sharp eyes spied what looked like a mouse-sized imprint (complete with tail) on the mirror directly opposite the only one so far with no reflection to speak of. She didn't stick around long enough to find out what had made her predecessor back off in such a hurry.

It wasn't long after that she thought she could hear something. It was a soft whimpering sound, punctuated by choking cries and howls of anguish.

"Vinnie!" The mortified mechanic hurtled through the last leg of the maze until she finally reached the source of the sobbing.

He was curled up at the foot of a rather imposing looking mirror, its bronze frame supported by what looked like a set of large paws. Charley couldn't see into the mirror from her position, but whatever it showed must have been pretty awful for the mouse to be so upset.

She crept closer to the ball of white fur, putting her hands out to pull him into a hug. She kneeled down and wrapped her arms around him, and he grabbed hold of her and held tightly. His body felt hot to the touch and his soft little snout was soaked by tears.

"Shh, Vinnie, it's ok, it's only a mirror it can't hurt you..."

"But... but... its... me... its... argh nooo, nooo" the mouse bawled into the woman's auburn hair, shaking with grief.

Charley looked into the final mirror in the hall and the colour drained from her face. The reflection sharing back at her was not her own but of the Martian mouse, his body disfigured and bloody, the right side of his face hollowed out and with a mass of scarred tissue where the cheekbone would have been. The horrifying figure was stood on what chillingly looked like a mound of bodies, in which were the unmistakeable remains of the mouse's closest friends. She felt sick to her stomach when she noticed one of the dead was undoubtedly herself.

"Vinnie... get up. You know this isn't real. Don't look at it, just get up and follow me..." She slipped her hands under his arms and heaved him up, being careful to face him away from the grotesque mirror image. "Come on, we have to get back to Modo and Throttle, they'll be waiting for us."

Vinnie sniffed and blinked his puffy eyes. Now that the woman was pulling him away from the mirror his head began to clear, as if some kind of spell had been lifted from him. The reflection had seemed so convincing to him it had completely overwhelmed all sense of reality. If Charley hadn't come to find him, he probably would have just stayed there and wasted away in despair.

"Thanks Charley-girl... I... I don't really know what happened back there..." The mouse trailed off... embarrassed by his total breakdown over something seemingly so shallow... (albeit disturbing) and now so evidently just a bad joke.

"It's alright, but can you hurry up a bit, i'm really worried about Throttle." Clearly Limburger had done his research this time, and with so many bad memories that could be used to terrify the tan-furred mouse she knew she had to get to him before it was his turn to be the butt of the fish's nasty sense of humour.

Vinnie paused for one last time in the cavern. The mirror by the tunnel entrance showed the mouse just as he was, and he couldn't help a small, somewhat relieved smile. _I'm still the best-looking mouse this side of Mars_..._and she knows it._

* * *

Limburger rocked back on his chair, unable to contain the mirth forcing its way out of his mouth. He had a single image on the screen now, a close up shot of the third biker mouse still wandering around in the darkness. He seemed to be struggling to find his way around now that the flare had fizzled out, but by contrast the foul-smelling fish could see everything with his night-vision cameras.

"Doctor Karbunkle, I do believe that ludicrous leader of the pack has found his way to the target at last... kindly activate the projector so that we can... hmmm... shed some light on the situation..."

He knew he was odious for even thinking it, but this was the moment he had been waiting for all afternoon. A chance to see what really frightened that most unerring front of bravado; the mouse that never seemed to baulk at anything the fish could throw at him, let alone anyone else of his species to date. However, he felt sure that he was on with a winner here. A little bit sadistic perhaps, but all the more enjoyable for it.

The portly Plutarkian leant forward again, his excitement barely concealed on his puffy, masked face. Karbunkle had pressed the remote control for the image projector unit that the mouse was standing right in front of, seemingly frozen to the spot.

"Greasepit, my dear boy... I think i'm going to need some more snacks." Limburger didn't even look at the retreating goon, he was far too absorbed in turning the dial of the volume control to its uppermost limits.

* * *

After depositing Vinnie with his larger cousin, Charley ran at full speed down the fourth and final tunnel. She had grabbed a handful of flares from the white mouse's pouch before she set off, and two of these were glowing in her hand, lighting the way ahead. _I've got to get to Throttle... got to get to him before... _Charley had a fair idea what Limburger intended for the tan-mouse, and she was going to make sure that he paid dearly for it afterwards.

She hurried down the stone passages, gasping hard at the stitch forming in her side. She kept turning and doubling back; repeatedly taking tunnels with dead ends and swearing to herself as she had to retrace her steps time and time again. _This is taking too long, I swear to god if Limburger's done what I think he is going to do..._

The breathless mechanic didn't even have time to imagine what kind of revenge she would have taken out on the vile villain before she stumbled into the small chamber at the end of the tunnel. There was little light in there, other than what was being emitted by a projector unit attached to the far wall. Its ethereal glow illuminated something else beneath the ghostly image hovering in the air.

Throttle was kneeling on the stone floor, paralysed with terror. Charley quickly ran over to the projector and smashed it with a rock until the dreadful image vanished, plunging the room temporarily in darkness. She had dropped both flares back in the passageway in her eagerness to spare the mouse from what had to be Limburger's cruellest hoax yet.

Now that it had been disabled, she lit her remaining two and bent down to tend the furry figure still frozen to the spot.

For the third time that day she hauled an emotional-wreck of a mouse to his feet, and gently guided him away from the object of his greatest fear.

When she finally reached the other two mice, who by now were recovering enough from their own scary encounters to make a joke of it (_Honestly Vinnie, trust you to be scared of your own reflection_...), she led them down the tunnel she had explored herself. Once they reached a point a safe distance from the end wall, she flipped the switch on her remote detonator and blasted a large hole though into the space behind.

"Hey, good guess Charley-girl – think we can get out through here?"

Vinnie clambered through into what appeared to be a storeroom, and took a quick look around before motioning to his friends that it was safe for them to follow. Throttle was still holding on tight to Charley's arm, which hindered her movement quite considerably.

"Here Charley... i'll take him" murmured Modo, prising the tan-mouse's fingers from her wrist. The white finger marks he left behind showed just how hard he had been holding on.

"Thanks... I was starting to lose feeling in that hand" Charley smiled at Throttle and stroked the soft fur on his cheeks, not wanting him to feel bad about practically cutting the blood flow from her extremities.

"Hey bros, Charley, there's a stairway here... and I think it leads to outside..." the mouse's elated voice floated down to them, bringing with it the relief that they would finally see daylight once again.

* * *

Before Limburger even realised the mice and mechanic had found a way out, they were already long gone. Charley managed to get all three mice to their waiting bikes without trouble, and soon they were back at her garage acting almost like nothing had ever happened. But when the evening came and she had had to tuck the mice in after checking under the bed/in the closet/behind the door for monsters (or in Vinnie's case, cover every mirrored surface in the entire garage), their loyal friend made good on her earlier promise.

A few days later, Limburger awoke in his on-site, first-class suite to the unwelcome sight of his boss, the pompous Plutarkian figure of Lord Camembert, hovering over his bed. As he scrambled from the covers in panic (the projection had been made to look as angry as possible...) he felt the floor of his bedroom shaking. Moments later the entire building was disintegrating beneath him, not to mention the rest of the adventure park.

Cheesyland would subsequently go down in history as the shortest-lived waste of money the citizens of Chicago had ever known. Limburger spent the next few months having nightmares about crumbling towers and the figure of his extremely angry superior chastising him for his complete and utter incompetence.


	8. Villain of the Year

A shorter, hopefully more amusing story for you all to enjoy. I decided not to go for the more obvious choice of 'gone wrong' story (Bleu cheese bros) - although if anyone wants me to do it I will of course have a go (ditto any other episodes). Anyway, I thought I might try to imagine what would have happened if Limburger hadn't totally screwed up the awards ceremony for Villain of the Year, and here is my take on it.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

5. Villain of the Year

Beyond the curtain there came an angry uproar of indignant protest. Several voices were shouting 'FIX!' and could be heard clearly above the lower level drone of boos and hisses in the room. By the sound of it, the audience was clearly unimpressed by the judge's decision.

From somewhere in the auditorium came a large, red mushy ball, which hit its intended target with enviable accuracy. The purple suit was now plastered with rotten tomato, and the man wearing it decided it would be much safer to retreat behind the lectern on the stage. He ducked down just as the first blasts of blue laser fire followed the myriad of vegetables raining down on him, missing him by barely an inch.

_Another suit ruined... why oh why did I have to go for the velvet jacket?_

There was a lull in the jeering and firing, and so Limburger took the opportunity to try to salvage the situation. He did not fancy spending the rest of the evening being pummelled by every black rock villain he had ever employed. It was bad enough they distrusted, even hated him for hiring them in the first place (not only had he _not_ paid them the agreed wage, but they had had to suffer humiliating defeat at the fish's biggest thorns in his side..._those maddening Martians_), but now that he had been crowned Villain of the Year he was surely in fact about to become 'most hated villain in the entire universe'. He had to offer an olive branch, preferably whilst he still had any scales left on his body.

"Gentleman, ladies – please!" Limburger ducked again as another fungus-filled fruit launched in his direction. "Please, wait – surely we can arrange for some sort of compensation..._aargh..!_" How on earth the criminals he had invited as guests to the awards ceremony had managed to bring so much fresh produce with them he could never fathom, but it was almost as if they had bought out every green grocers in the city before their arrival. The now panicked Plutarkian felt he really had only one way to stop himself becoming fertilizer.

"_You tricked us Limburger, like you tricked us when you hired us to destroy those mice!"_

"_**Yeah**__, what makes you think we're letting you outta here alive!"_

Several of the smart-suited super-villains had risen to their feet, their faces ugly with rage and resentment. Most of them had produced some sort of weapon and were tapping their palms with it with alarming intent.

"Please, my friends – hear me out..! As a form of consolation I am willing to offer you tonight's bonus prize to one and all..."

The hate-filled horde paused to process this peace-keeping gesture. On the one hand they would miss out on frying that infuriating fat fish (although they might do it anyway for good measure), but on the other hand they would be able to finally pay back those pains in the Plutarkian rear-end; the Biker Mice from Mars. Tempting to say the least.

To aid them in their decision, Limburger signalled to his stage-hand, the three-eyed, one-tentacled mutant known as Fred, to raise the curtain screening the back of the stage from view. The mutant obliged willingly, pulling on the ropes that would draw the fabric wall upwards, the pulley system counter-balanced by a series of large sandbags. Fred had tried in vain to dislodge one of these earlier whilst he stood beneath. He loved nothing more than being almost crushed to death, except perhaps some of the experiments performed on him by Limburger's mad scientist Dr. Karbunkle. Although he looked hopefully at the heavily weighted sacks, he was out of luck once again.

The rack mounted on the backstage had also been a huge temptation for the mal-formed masochist. It was in essence a metal frame, with a series of strong steel wires each terminating in a large, shiny cuff. Fred had dearly wished his boss had mounted him on the display stand, and certainly its current occupants had teased him with just how painful those metal manacles were. It had taken him every last bit of self control to ignore the taunts, and now he was staring up at it again wistfully. _No one cares about the little mutant... I never get to have any fun._

Above him the three mice shifted uncomfortably. There was a wire for each of their limbs, and each was pulled taut so that they were displayed with their legs and arms outstretched. The shackles were also tight around their joints, reducing the blood flow to their digits so that they tingled with numbness and pain. It was difficult to breathe in such a position, with their entire body weights being supported by their wrists, and the resulting cramps spread relentlessly through their biceps and pectoral muscles. They had hoped Fred would take the bait and offer to switch places with them, but before they could convince him Limburger had had the curtain hoisted and they were once again on show.

"Uh, bros... think we better come up with a plan B now..? I don't fancy spending the rest of my life gathering dust on someone's trophy shelf..." Modo struggled against his restraints, but despite his size and strength he had been unable to break free of them. Plutarkian glass steel was well known to the mice for being able to withstand much of what their Martian weaponry had to offer. Even if his arm-cannon hadn't been wired shut he wouldn't have been able to shoot his way to freedom either.

"I'm open for suggestions." The tan mouse wiggled the stiff wiring supporting him. He had already tried using his tail to pick the locks of the cuffs, but the keyholes were very small, and the pins inside sharp and unwieldy. He looked to his left. "Vinnie?"

"What... me? You're the brains and you're asking me?" The white-furred mouse on the far side of the rack looked back incredulously.

"Now I know we're in trouble if you're turning to that hot-headed adrenalin junky for advice..."

Throttle half shrugged back at his grey-furred friend suspended above him. He didn't always have the answer, and today was one of those when he was fresh out. "Sorry, but I can't think of everything you know, as much as I may try."

The three mice twitched their tails in agitation. They were under the stare of at least 20 pairs of hostile eyes, all vying for their blood. It appeared that Limburger had finally got the murderous crowd back under control, and now it seemed they were debating who exactly would get to keep the 'bonus prize'. Before another riot could break out, someone had yelled an idea that no one could really argue with. They were going to have an auction.

Limburger smiled with deep satisfaction. He was going to survive this near-disaster, and at the end of it he would not only be rid of those bothersome bikers, but would be several gold-gills richer to boot.

"Ladies and gentleman... I start the bidding at 10,000 gold gills... who will give me 10,000 for the pleasure of disposing of these despicable dormice?"

The fish was met with a stony silence. _Oh well I guess I was a little optimistic_.

"Err, alright then... how about 100? Anyone want to start the bidding at 100 gold gills?"

Silence. _That stingy bunch of thankless thugs.._.

"Fine... 10 gold gills, that's the lowest I am willing to start at. Anyone?" Limburger resigned himself to the possibility he wasn't going to go home that night with his pockets bulging.

To the surprise of the tethered mice, their first bidder was not the metal-clad, muscle-bound, monstrous nor maniacal forms of any of the villains they had defeated. They felt sure that 'Lectromag would want to pay them back for leaving him trapped in molten metal; or the Loogey Brothers for giving them the stomach ache from hell (food before a fight is not a good idea). They would even have expected the Pulverizer to have stepped up on this one, given as the metal-fisted warmonger had also been humiliated by failing to defeat the three mice.

But no. The small figure waving their hand to offer 10 gold gills for the bonus prize was in fact a woman. The squat, fluff and frills female with an uncanny ability to conjure clouds from nowhere, throw thunderbolts around like javelins, and harness hailstones to hammer her hapless victims into their next life. Their first bidder was none other than the Weathermeister.

The three mice looked at each other with a mixture of pure embarrassment and nervous amusement. _Surely not her... thugs we can handle... but lace doilys..?_

Realising they were about to be outbid by a diminutive dame (who barely even looked as though she could harm a fly let alone deal with the three most notorious warriors in the milky way), the rest of the super-villains jumped up to put in their offers. The furious bidding war that ensued lasted for well over an hour, although mainly because of all the fist-fights and gun-fire breaking out over who bid what. The end result was not in Limburger's favour financially (he only managed 3000 gold gills, a pittance to a Plutarkian like him), but at least he finally had someone to take away the bonus prize... and rid him of the worst headache he had had since agreeing to this assignment on Earth.

He shook hands with the winning bidder, and took the cash before they could change their mind. He had his goons load the rack onto the roof of the auditorium where they could be hoisted into the waiting transport above. The mice couldn't believe their bad luck. They had just been bought and loaded into the weather plane of the first bidder.

* * *

"Oh man... why did we have to end up with _her_?"

Vinnie glanced around the loading bay of the pink hovercraft the Weathermeister flew. There wasn't much else in there besides the rack that held him and his two friends, although the pastel-coloured walls were dotted with pictures of rainbows, butterflies and small fluffy animals.

"Look on the bright side... at least she isn't going to pound us into next weekend like some of those other villains were planning on." Secretly Modo would have preferred to die fighting an army of Limburger's worst henchmen than smothered by pink fluff and zapped by thunderbolts. At least that's what he assumed the weather-controlling woman had in mind for them.

"Some bright side... have you any idea where this hunk of junk is heading?" Throttle was much more concerned that they had just left the Earth's atmosphere and that the space craft carrying them was less than a match for anything more well-armed than a meteorite. He sincerely hoped the Weathermeister had no enemies lurking in the cosmos who might choose this moment to settle a score with her. _I wonder if she can conjure up weather in outer space..._

But he needn't have worried about it, for the craft was piloted in orbit around the blue planet until it was over the pacific ocean, and then it began to descend. For a few minutes the loading bay heated up beyond the level of a Finnish sauna as the plane burned up on re-entry. It was a small mercy the thing at least had half-decent heat shields.

It turned out the Weathermeister had a preference for hot, sub-tropical climates, and had bought an entire island in the south Pacific archipelago of Vanuatu. For her this was paradise, and even the minor inconvenience of the cyclone season was of little consequence. She simply pulled out her trusty map of the island and slapped a big sun-shaped sticker on it, and the hurricanes somehow managed to miss her every time.

"Vat do you theenk of ziss place my leetle fuzzy trophies? Gud ya?"

Aside from barely being able to understand the heavily-accented woman, they mice were so bewildered by her choice of landing spot they didn't say a word in reply.

From the bushes at the head of the sandy beach came a small group of what looked like native islanders, and they all seemed eager to do the bidding of the strange, squat woman in her pink flying machine. She merely had to wave a hand and the men hauled the rack flat on its back, and between them carried it to a path through the lush, green jungle.

"Just set zat there, gud gud... now zen biker mice, vat shall I haf done with you... hmm?"

_Just put me in a cooking pot and get it over with... _Vinnie was not only starting to get a headache from the woman's high-pitched tones, but he didn't fancy the idea of being bitten to death by mosquitoes either. He flicked his tail as another of the blood-sucking insects landed on his nose. "_Yeeowch!_ Gerroff me you nasty little bugs..!"

"Oops ah yes, can't be having zat now can ve!" The short statured crone was almost bursting with glee. She waved at the local men again and they heaved the metal frame further on into the jungle until they reached a clearing, within which was a large, modern-looking house. The rack was taken inside, and the mice breathed a collective sigh of relief in the cool air-conditioned room.

"Just hang tight bros, as soon as this crackpot lets one of us down from here we can take her out, and then we can use that pink flying thing out there to take us back to Chicago." Throttle's head was feeling a little clearer now they were out of the sweltering heat. His thick fur was of great benefit in the temperate climate of the North American city, and even more so on Mars, but out here in the tropics it was torture.

"Tut tut tut... no ve von't be doing any of zat, no no no..." The woman had appeared in front of the display and stood there contemplating what to do with her latest purchase. She knew well enough that the mice were stronger than her, and that one wrong move and she would lose them. She hadn't exactly planned for company, either, but she was if anything a resourceful fiend, and always willing to make the most of an opportunity that arose. "Now zen... lets zee... ah... pur-vect, ziss vill do..." Suddenly she pulled a map out of thin air and slapped another sticker on it. The map was a plan of her house, and the sticker looked distinctly like a bolt of lightning.

The flash lit up the otherwise dull interior of her large, open-plan living area, and all three mice seized as the high-voltage charge surged through them. Once they were unconscious, the weird little woman had her trusty jungle-men take the mice down from the rack. She ran her podgy fingers over their fur-covered muscles, giggling as her hands moved lower. She didn't mind that the mice had defeated her the last time they met; even she couldn't resist the lure of the three bravest studs in the entire solar system. And now she had them all to herself.

* * *

_Several days later..._

"No fair Modo – it's your turn to wear the tutu!"

The grey mouse rolled his single eye at his smaller cousin. There was no way he was swapping clothes with him. It was bad enough he wasn't in his jeans, but the thought of spending another day in the baby-pink frills made him positively nauseous.

"Uh-uh, no chance Vinnie... you heard what she said, your white fur _sets off_ the pink... I think that's woman speak for it suits you."

"But... but... how come you and Throttle get to wear the guy clothes all the time..? Why am I always the one in the dresses!"

"Guy clothes? You call _these_ guy clothes?" The tan mouse was dressed in a black lycra vest and leggings, both of which were so tight on him they revealed every part of his masculine figure. If he hadn't been boiling in the synthetic suit he would have sworn he was practically naked.

"At least you get to wear clothes, Throttle..." grumbled the tutu-clad mouse. _If she makes me wear those stockings again I swear i'm going to crack._

Modo looked down at his own costume. The Weathermeister hadn't liked his chest plate very much, insisting his body was far too good to hide under metal. She had him strip off to the waist, and then presented him with some exotic-looking culottes to replace his denim jeans. On the plus side they were a lot more comfortable in the tropical heat than the heavy trousers, and of the three mice he probably got the best deal. "Suck it in Vinnie, you know how she doesn't like to hear complaints..."

All in all their unexpected abduction hadn't been so bad. They spent most of their day lounging around on the beach, in-between collecting firewood, mending things around the house, serving cocktails to or dressing up and posing for their curious custodian. She had no need for restraints as there was no way off the island other than by her plane (which she had locked away in a hidden hangar). When the mice did try to escape she had pulled out a picture of the three of them and slapped on another lightning bolt-shaped sticker. After being electrocuted a few times by the conjured voltage, the mice gave up and decided they probably needed a holiday anyway, even if they did have to make a few sacrifices to their pride.

"Show time bros, here comes the woman now." Throttle groaned inwardly. The sooner they got this over with the better, he felt so hot in the tight suit he was sure he going to throw up.

The Weathermeister had entered the studio at the back of the villa and was pleased by what she saw. Three studly mice, all showing off their best sides to her. She grabbed her camera and soon finished an entire reel of film, barking occasional directions to the mice so they stood where and how she wanted them. She particularly liked the shot of the white mouse dangling from his tail, the pink and white tutu slipping down over his belly to reveal the tight, lace-trimmed ladies briefs she had told him to put on.

"You know what, if we don't get out of here soon I think Vinnie is either going to burn the whole island down, or she's going to start giving him hormone injections..." Throttle muttered under his breath to his grey furred friend, who was watching the weird scene with extreme embarrassment.

"Don't give her anymore ideas bro, Charley will never forgive us if we take him back with assets bigger than her own." _Not that it wouldn't be an improvement..._ Modo chuckled at the thought of the white mouse and their human friend going clothes shopping together, and choosing make-up for each other to wear. _You never know he might actually make a good-looking girl..._

The two mice stared at the crazy crone as she put a second reel of film in the camera. She now had Vinnie in ballet pumps and trying to perform a pirouette, his cheeks flushing the colour of his clothing.

"Hey... is that what I think it is?" Throttle pointed to a sheet of paper on the floor in front of them.

Modo glanced down, and spotted the familiar outline of their likenesses. "Uh... careful bro... don't let her see what you're doing."

Throttle reached down with his tail for the mislaid drawing, and drew it up into his hand. He then slipped it down the front of his tight trousers, praying that the woman wouldn't notice the strange square shape he could barely conceal under his clothing. "I think we have indulged her highness long enough, don't you think bro?"

"Yup... You know I think some of those local guys were the ones who parked that plane of hers..." Modo whispered, keeping his eye on their keeper. "You thinking what i'm thinking bro..?"

Sometime in the night three mice slipped out of the jungle-bound villa and crept away down the dirt path. They had managed to get one of the younger village boys to show them where the garage was, and it took little further persuasion to get him to find them a key. Once there they unlocked the hangar doors and, to their immense relief, the small pink plane was there for the taking.

Before long the three mice were leaving the speck of paradise they had been forced to call home for the past week, although it hadn't exactly been much of a hardship. As they guided the plane towards its inevitable crash-landing in their scoreboard hangout, they had one last look at the line drawing of themselves, before tearing it up into tiny shreds. Although they would spend plenty of time over the coming weeks teasing Vinnie and threatening to tell Charley about him in a skirt, they never actually would divulge certain details to her about their 'holiday.' And they sincerely hoped that none of those photographs would ever, ever leave that tiny tropical island in the South Pacific.


	9. Cheeseloggers

Sorry for the delay but I have been writing so much I keep forgetting other important things... such as eating, drinking... sleeping... blinking... not to mention housework and other such mundane tasks. So I had to take a break and get stuff done. Besides, I still felt awful after writing my latest one-shot (Grow old with me). Don't read it if you like happy stories. Ahem, anyway, I wasn't sure how this one would turn out. I haven't had any reviews for the lighter/more humorous chapters in this series, so I don't know whether people prefer the darker ones or not, but I didn't plan on this one being quite as nasty as it ended up being. Don't ask where I get my inspiration from, I really am not sure I want to know myself.

Please don't be afraid to review, and I would be interested to know if there are any episodes you want me to 'make over'. I have at least another... err 6 or more _minimum_ I will be tackling, and believe me I have a very nasty surprise in store for you all when I get to my last one.

In the meantime, here is my take on Cheeseloggers. Things go much better for Limburger in my version... and equally much worse for the mice.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

6. Cheeseloggers

It was the strangest, and without a doubt the most disgusting thing to have yet happened to any of the mice. Somewhere inside the tangle of molecules that pooled on the floor at his feet was what once were his two bros. He hadn't even seen the gun, Karbunkle's latest invention no doubt, that had fired it's beam at the three furry heroes. He had managed to dodge it, but his companions had not been so lucky. Now the weapon was nowhere to be seen, and the man – make that fish – that had fired it was escaping to make mayhem elsewhere.

The tan-furred mouse was at a loss. Were his two friends even still alive in the pink heap before him, or were they just a mass of cells, unconnected by nerves, bones and muscle tissue? How would he move them to safety if they were immobile, and mores to the point... how on Earth could he reverse this most bizarre turn of events?

"Umm... bros... can you hear me down there?" Feeling like an idiot talking to a blob on the floor, Throttle bent down and prodded the thing with his laser pistol. It quivered in response to the nudge, and then slowly began to move.

The bewildered mouse stepped back, wondering if it was such a good idea to be so close. He waited whilst the oozing remains of Martian slithered and writhed on the carpet... and felt positively grossed out. Eventually though, something vaguely resembling a snout started to form, and then a second. Soon there were two heads poking out, each resembling the two of the original bodies the mass was formed from. Moments later there were also two long, pink tails extruding from the mound.

"Modo... Vinnie... is that you...? Speak to me bros."

The two heads didn't seem to want to communicate, but at least their presence was a good sign. _Better get this thing to Charley... she will know what to do... _

Getting it there really was going to be interesting. The only thing he could think of was to somehow get it into his sidecar, although the only method for doing so that came to mind involved an oversized spatula - something this city was no doubt in short supply of.

"Err, I don't know if you can hear me or not, but if you can... I really need you to get into my sidecar." _I'm talking to a glob of goo, someone better call the men in white coats._

Thankfully Throttle needn't have questioned his sanity, for the pink blob began to slid itself over to the waiting motorbike. He looked away from it as it crawled into the sidecar, his stomach churning in protest at the sucking sounds his bro's molecules were making.

_Oh man that's so gross. Sooner I get this done the better. _The tan mouse rubbed his stomach tentatively, unsure of whether or not he would actually make it to the garage before he saw his lunch again. After swallowing a few times to make sure, he kicked his bike into action and sped off as fast as he dared. No seatbelt in the world would be able to hold _that_ kind of body in place.

* * *

The female mechanic-come-inventor greeted the site of the returning mouse and his two bros with a mixture of horror, amusement and outright nausea.

"Oh my... don't tell me... Karbunkle?" Charley winced as the pink blob oozed out of the sidecar and onto her freshly mopped workshop floor.

"Got it in one babe, we're in a right fine mess this time. Think you can help?"

"Umm... you know it would really help if you had at least brought me whatever did this." _I know he knows i'm a genius, but honestly some days he really pushes it. _Charley looked down at the cellular mass, which was now re-forming the two heads and tails Throttle had seen earlier.

"Vinnie...Modo? Guys? What _has_ that deranged doctor done to you?"

Suddenly one of the heads had a mouth, and there were no prizes for guessing which one.

"Sweetheart!" Vinnie yelled as if he had only just noticed his female friend gawking at him. "You like the new look huh? I've been told I look good in pink.." The head of the once-white mouse grinned comically up at his two companions.

Throttle rolled his eyes in response. "Well now I've seen everything... Jello with an ego – who'd have thought it possible?" He was starting to think he preferred the mass of molecules when it didn't have heads.

"Not funny bro – now how's about you get us out of here, Modo's big butt is holding me back from some seriously _heartfelt_ revenge."

The second head apparently heard this remark, for Vinnie's part of the mass yelped and lurched violently towards Charley – who leapt back quickly and almost slipped over on the wet floor. "Jeez warn me before you make a move like that!" she scowled at the pink-headed Martian.

"Sorry Charley-ma'am, just had to teach my dancing partner here a few manners." Modo's head looked at his conjoined bro with irritation.

"Hey big fella, glad to see you're still with us... kinda anyway." Throttle pitied his older friend. He wouldn't wish mixing molecules with Vinnie on just about anyone.

"I'd say the same, but i'm not sure I like this new arrangement much." The mutated grey mouse groaned as he eyed the other he had been spliced with. "Worse still, Lil' Hoss ain't gonna want no... whatever we are... riding on her sweet self. And there's no way i'm letting Vinnie drive me anywhere." Vinnie let out a huff, and Modo swiftly slapped his bro's rubbery head with his own gooey tail.

"Is there anything you can do Charley-girl? Preferably before these two start ripping each other to shreds..." Throttle grimaced as two pink tails began a battle at his feet, complete with stomach-curdling sound effects.

"Like I said before, I really am going to need the thing that did this. Think you can handle it tough guy?" Charley glanced down at the writhing blob on the floor, which was now heaving itself around so violently that her equipment was in serious danger of getting caught up in the fracas. "Looks like you better step on it."

Throttle nodded, although he wasn't entirely sure where exactly the big cheese had run off to this time. "I'll try Charley-girl... hold the fort for me... err I suggest just shooting them two if they cause too much trouble."

Before the oozing mass of Martian mice could protest their innocence, their tan friend had already left, his tires squealing with his haste. _Now if I was a rotten stink-fish with a new toy, where would I go to try it out..? _Unfortunately, the answer wasn't short of anything but _**anywhere**_**.**

* * *

At this time of year the woodlands around the city were normally teaming with life. Birds making their nests, insects pollinating flowers, and leaves unfurling from their buds, swathing the bare winter branches with a flush of life-giving green. This is what should have been happening in this one particular woodland, but weeks of disturbance and clearing work in early spring had all but put a halt on it.

Lawrence Limburger looked contentedly at his spoils, the latest efforts to steal Earth's natural resources for his own strip-mined planet. Things were moving along much faster now that he had his new device, a classic Karbunklian contraption that not only saved him a lot of time (a precious commodity when constantly interrupted by eco-warriors and Martian do-gooders), but vast sums of money as well. He didn't have to hire any more of those lazy idle forestry workers to cut down the trees; he simply pressed a button and the trees moved themselves into the wood saw. Another blast of the gun and the logs were ready for shipment. A gene scrambling ray was just what the doctor ordered, so to speak.

"Oh Karbunkle..." His wavering voice carried across the relative peace of the empty forest to where the evil scientist was fiddling with the rifle-shaped device. "How much longer until the quota is fulfilled? The high chairman wants his log store filled to bursting before the Plutarkian winter sets in, and he promises me a spot **in** his fireplace if I don't do as he pleases..." _That over-ripe oligarch and his impossible demands. If it comes to it I am sure I can convince him that Greasepit would make a better fuel source... _

"I'm working as fast as I can your cheddar cheesiness... this gene scrambler is a _delicate _instrument. We don't want it to burn out... or something... with overuse..." Karbunkle appeared to be giving the ray gun a thorough check-up before continuing with the harvest.

"My despicable deviant doctor, perhaps I didn't make myself clear..." the purple-suited Plutarkian puffed himself up, clearly annoyed by the long pause, "...if you don't hurry things up the next life-form to see the barrel of that ray gun will be _you_... NOW GET A MOVE ON!"

Not wanting to end up like the two mice he zapped earlier, the disconcerted doctor began firing the gene scrambler at the next nearest tree, praying inwardly that the stupid stink-fish was the one holding it when the gun went critical. _Would serve him right, and he would be the one in a puddle, not I... not if I can help it anyway_. Karbunkle hadn't installed a warning light on the device for nothing.

* * *

After searching fruitlessly for several hours, the one remaining biker-shaped mouse was just about ready to give up. The vile villain and his sinister sidekick were nowhere within the city itself – at least there were none of the usual signs of destruction... or pungent odour... that normally followed him in his wake. Throttle sat for a moment, trying his very hardest to recall what the fish had been saying as they had broken into his tower, before they had been distracted by that weird weapon of his.

_I'm sure he said something about Camembert's fireplace._

If Limburger was after fuel for a fire, then there was only one other logical location he could be. Having already inspected anywhere in the city that might have contained coal, his other option was wood. And for wood you needed trees. _Aha, the forest!_

At the speed the lone biker tore through the city it was no time at all before he finally reached a likely place. Long rows of thick-set tire tracks in the dirt road used by the foresters, relatively fresh, and a feint odour of rotten eggs. Yep. This had to be where the action was.

Soon the mouse had reached the desolate clearing where most of the felling had already taken place. On the outermost edge were row upon row of stumps, each surrounded by a small ring of pale sawdust. Beyond this there was a vast open space with no trees... and no stumps either.

_Strange... i'm sure this wasn't a clearing the last time we rode through here._

Throttle edged his bike a little closer, taking cover behind a few of the smaller saplings that had been ignored. Using his helmet's visor he zoomed in on the Plutarkian and the mad doctor, trying to make sense of what he was actually doing out here... and what exactly he needed the ray gun for. He didn't have to wait long to get his answer.

_Whoa... the trees are alive..! But then how come my bro's melted into a mushy mess and those things don't..?_

Whatever the answer it really didn't matter. The most important thing, indeed the only thing on the tan-mouse's mind was getting that gun from Limburger's clutches, and taking it back (preferably in one piece) to the garage to reverse the damage to his friends.

Taking a wide arc around the site of destruction, Throttle crept closer and closer to where the trees were being 'felled'. He knew that getting shot by the gun now would be the end of the road for him, so he was going to have to sneak up and snatch it from them before they could fire it. However, what the mouse didn't plan on was Limburger already knowing he was there.

"Karbunkle... I think it's time we moved on... I believe we have access to the beta site, I suggest we take full advantage." The fish kept his voice low, gesturing to the scientist discreetly with a data pad in his gloved hands.

"Indeed your silky smoothness... and what of the remaining trees here?"

"Oh I think we can let a few of them go, dear doctor, i'm sure they would like the opportunity to console themselves for their losses..."

From where he was sitting, the waiting mouse could not have expected what was to happen next to even be possible. Limburger pressed a button on his watch, and both he and his henchmen vanished, teleported to the 'beta site', wherever that was. But not before Karbunkle had zapped a handful of the nearest trees with his gene-scrambling ray gun.

For a moment the mouse sat alone in the decimated woodland, somewhat stunned and annoyed that Limburger had gotten away yet again. He almost didn't notice the fact that half a dozen trees had started to slowly pull their roots from the ground, and that those roots were slithering their way towards him and his bike.

_Uh oh... big trouble..._

Before he could start his engine one of the nearest tree's branches took a hefty swipe at him, knocking him from his bike and into the path of the advancing roots. The winded mouse hadn't even got to his feet by the time the wooden appendages had him. The lignin sinews bound his feet and wrapped around his arms, pinning him. Crushing him. Lights popped in front of his eyes as he fought to take a breath, and then the earth crumbled beneath his trapped body, which promptly sank into the hollow beneath the roots of one of the angry, writhing oaks. Soil followed him into the cavity, smothering the mouse with its humic compost, blocking out all light... and air. It was lucky Throttle still had his helmet on, and its protective visor in place. He and his bros had made sure their carefully customed headgear prepared them for just about anything, be it deep space, under water, or within 50 miles of Limburger's lavatory. Today was the first time they had been tested whilst being buried under a ton of dirt.

"Ungh, got to... get out... of here..." The mouse struggled under the weight of the heavy soil, the giant roots still squeezing him. He couldn't even move his arm to reach the button for his helmet's intercom. _If only I could reach... Charley... bike... anyone..._

He lay there for a while trying to think how he could get free of such strong bindings, when he felt something much more worrying than the stems wound around his limbs. At first it was just a tickle. The mouse dismissed the early sensations as being some of the dislodged soil-living bugs crawling over him, no doubt having an easier time under the dirt than he was. But the tickling feeling wasn't random. It was progressing. Progressing across his fur and under his clothing, snaking along his inert form unimpeded. Thousands of tiny rootlets nuzzling his skin, looking for a way into the large source of nutrition that had been deposited there for their taking.

_First buried alive... now eaten alive... this can't be happening._

He felt the hair-like stems as they investigated his body, knowing it was only a matter of time before they found an opening. The ones beneath his clothing had quickly found an easy point of access, and the mouse clenched his jaw (not to mention his abdomen) as the plant forcefully explored inside him. The experience was not pleasant, and was considerably worse when the threads made their way to his front. _Reminds me of something Charley mentioned... prostate exam... _He still didn't know much about human medicine, but he felt certain he wasn't willingly going to go for one of those appointments the woman had described to the three horrified mice one day.

More of the adventurous appendages were meandering up towards his head. Throttle felt a few down by his navel, poking him hard with their tips. He silently prayed they wouldn't find that to be a suitable insertion point. Thankfully the roots moved on, but the advancement towards his face was a seriously unwelcome alternative.

It was difficult enough to breath with his thorax under so much pressure, but now that the hair-sized growths were wriggling under the seams of his helmet, the mouse was in danger of losing the protection the shell offered him.

_No... nooo... _

He had never held his mouth so tightly shut. But it wasn't tight enough to stop them. The powerful rootlets breached his trembling lips with ease, and pushed their way into his mouth via the gaps in his dentition, snaking on downwards into his throat. He gagged at the intrusion, but the filaments prevented any escape from his stomach. More threads were filling his nostrils, and then even finer ones were working their way around his eyes. Even his bionic replacements could sense pain, and this was a very clear reminder of what had happened that fateful day back on Mars.

His head ached. He couldn't cry out, his jaw was muzzled snugly by the probing vegetation. He felt his ear drums rupture as the relentless roots found their final access point into his skull. Blood trickled down his bulging neck, adding to the crimson pool from his mouth and nose. A similar puddle was forming under his tail end. The last thing he sensed before his body was overwhelmed by the invasion was the tip of one tendril pushing its way _out_ of his mouth.

* * *

"It's been way too long now, something's got to be wrong." Charley had paced her tiny garage incessantly for the past hour, a horribly familiar feeling coming back to haunt her. "Have you guys got any idea what Limburger was planning? Why did he even need a gun like that, if not just to turn you two bone heads into a...a... _urgh_, whatever you are exactly?"

"Uh, sorry Charley-ma'am, things happened so fast..." The head of Modo trailed off, looking worried and apologetic. Sometimes he understood just why Charley always insisted on making a plan before barging through Limburger's back door.

"Didn't that reeking pork-rind say something about.. err... fire... or wood... or something...?" Vinnie eyed his two companions, hoping that one of them would make the leap for him. His brain functioned badly enough when he was a whole Martian, but was faring distinctly worse now his cells were all mixed up with the grey mouse. Whilst he felt strangely bigger... stronger even, he also felt his IQ lower by several notches when the two of them had been scrambled like a giant egg. Not that he would ever dare saying it aloud.

"Vinnie! Just how long have you been sitting on that little gem of information?" This wasn't the reaction the smaller mouse had been expecting from the mechanic.

"But.. but..."

"No buts, you MORON! You mean to tell me that while I've been wearing a hole in the floor with worry, you knew all along where the fetid fish was going?"

"Sweetheart – no, no I just didn't... think..." A pink tail reached over and slapped his head around a few more times, whilst Charley hurriedly pulled a large map from her desk.

"If Limburger's after firewood then he's got to go somewhere where no one's going to ask too many questions." The woman pointed to her map, tracing the edges of the city with her calloused index finger. "Aha... I bet he's gone here, this place already has a contract in place for clear felling, it wouldn't take much persuasion for someone to let him loose in there."

The two pink heads followed her gaze to the map, their eyes coming to rest on a green area with triangular-shaped markings. "What is that Charley-ma'am?" Modo wasn't familiar with Earth mapping symbols.

"That, big guy, is a plantation. The perfect little shopping place if you fancy fresh logs for a fat Plutarkian's fireplace..."

* * *

It was already dark by the time she reached the clearing. There was no doubt in her mind that Limburger had been at work here. Aside from the obvious lack of trees, the lingering foul smell was unmistakeable. What was also obvious, though, was the lack of the one responsible for the destruction. Nor was there any sign of the mouse who had gone after him.

She knew better than to assume anything. Restarting her bike, Charley pressed on into the bleak landscape, searching for clues with her headlight, hoping to find something that would tell her where the fish had gone... and whether or not the tan-mouse had followed.

It didn't take her long to spot the black and chrome form of Throttle's bike. It responded to her presence by flashing it's mouse-shaped headlight at her, accompanying the visual signal with audible bleeping. Urgent beeps. S.O.S. The bike must have learnt Morse code when it was connected to her computer, thought the anxious woman as she approached.

The bike's light illuminated a patch of disturbed earth at its front wheel. Charley climbed off her bike and bent down to inspect the mound of soil. Leaning closer, the woman could have sworn she saw something vaguely resembling a tail poking out of the dirt.

"Throttle..? Throttle!" The mechanic began frantically digging with her bare hands, working as fast as she could to uncover the buried mouse. She looked at the machine at his head. "Help me!"

The bike used its lasers to blast off the top layer of heavy soil, before firing a rope for Charley to attach to the lifeless form beneath her feet. A disturbing array of snapping sounds accompanied the effort to haul the tethered mouse from the ground. The trees that bound him had apparently fallen dormant again. Even in the dim light she knew something didn't look right about the furry body, but it wasn't until the bike had reversed to pull its load to safety that she got a good long look at what had happened.

"Holy crap..." There were no other words for it. The mouse still had a pulse, though how that was possible she couldn't imagine, and if he wasn't breathing she wasn't sure yet if there was anything she could do about it here. She removed his helmet and found every orifice plugged by wood-like matter. The blood stains on his trousers were an indication the same was true of the other openings to his body cavity. Pulling hard at the stems in his mouth and nose, Charley desperately fought to clear the unconscious Martian's airways before it was too late. She then tilted his head back and blew hard into his mouth. _Please don't let his lungs be filled as well._ After a few nerve-racking attempts, the tan-furred chest expanded fully, and then deflated. He was breathing on his own.

"I don't know what exactly I can do to help, Throttle, but I promise I will figure something out." The only good sign was that he was still alive despite the resemblance to a pot-bound plant.

She used Throttle's bike to carry its unconscious owner out of the woodland, his mount streaking after her own in a frenetic race to her garage. Charley's only thoughts now were getting back to save her stricken friend. _Those two other knuckleheads will just have to learn to live with being Martian mush for now... at least they can do less damage like that. _

Throttle had been right about one thing. Shooting the bothersome blob was not only an extremely effective form of crowd control... but didn't actually kill them. Bonus. The ultimate in stress relief if ever there was one.

* * *

Charley spent the next few hours on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She arrived in a state of hysterics at her garage, confronted by the mushy mess of muscled Martians who had been hoping for release from their predicament. It didn't take them long to figure out they were going to have to wait their turn.

The woman consulted just about every textbook she owned on both parasitic infections and horticultural pests. Sometime around 3am she gave up and called the doctor, the only one she knew that knew anything about her furry companions. Thankfully he had also trained as a vet... but she made him promise to never let that little detail slip to the three mice.

Together they spent the next 48 hours working on the tan-mouse. Most of the rootlets gave way quite easily, but in the end the doctor suggested surgery was the only option for some of the more deeply penetrating threads. Going to an actual hospital was out of the question, and so a clean room was set up in the scoreboard at Quigley field. Many more strings were pulled to get the necessary equipment they needed in there.

Charley had scrubbed in to assist the surgeon, and several hours more later a dazed but otherwise healthy Throttle was slowly coming round. All that remained were a few tiny incisions, neatly sutured by the skilled hands of the now well-practiced woman.

_Key hole surgery... gotta love it. _

The doctor ordered immediate bed rest, and not just for the patient.

Whilst Throttle needed yet another few weeks under the care of the medically-trained mechanic, not to mention several more months to overcome his new phobia of all things flora, his two bros only had to endure a relatively short time trapped in their gelatinous jumble.

As soon as Charley was able, she set off in search of Limburger armed with the largest bunch of tree-hugging hippies she could muster. She never thought the pompous pig would be so intimidated by an army of environmental activists (she suspected it had something to do with the heavy artillery the more... dedicated... ones had brought with them). At the end of it Limburger and his goons were themselves chained to the ancient forest dwellers, surrounded by a large camp of exhausted but victorious folk, singing round their campfires (carefully constructed to not cause any more damage to the woodland), toasting sticky marshmallows and giant hot dogs in the warming glow.

Charley left them all to it, knowing that her eco-warrior friends would take care of the feckless fish for her, allowing her to finally go home with Karbunkle's weird invention and clear up that large pink stain covering her lounge carpet. Apparently malt vinegar was another highly effective method of dealing with over-zealous scrambled mouse.


	10. Lake Michi gone

I have wanted to do this one from the moment I decided to start this little series, although it took me a while to decide exactly what I was going to do with it. I knew the starting point, but not the end, but now having written it I realise there really was only one way to go. In the original episode this moment is, I feel, the closest we ever see the mice come to facing their own mortality. Whether or not you agree, this is my take on it.

I suppose I should once again declare I do not own these lovely furry mice, as sad as that may make me.

And to all of you who love them as much as I, and to all of you fantastic writers bringing them to life, I hope you are enjoying my stories as much as I enjoy yours.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

7. Lake Michi-gone

Until this point he had been almost certain everything would be ok. It hadn't mattered that they were under nearly 20 feet of the murky lake water. They nearly always managed to figure a way out of a tight jam like this... and if they didn't then they normally had only to wait a while and help would come. Usually in the form of one particular female mechanic.

It had even not occurred to him that today there would be a problem. Everything about a Martian biker's kit was designed to handle just about anything life and enemies could throw at them. Being under water was no exception. Their laser pistols were able to function even when submerged, as were their bikes. Well, just the rockets anyway, and for a short burst only. Combustion needs oxygen, but one quirk in the bike's design accommodated a small air pocket in the fuel chamber. Just enough to ignite the jets, but not much more. Another handy air space happened to reside in the most important piece of their motor-biking accessories. Martian bike helmets came equipped with their own air supply, allowing brief periods of high altitude, deep space, or even underwater combat.

So as far as he was concerned, it was a good thing that today they each had their helmets on and the visors drawn over. It was quite unusual for that idiot henchman of Limburger's to actually be able to fire a cannon without some sort of mishap... let alone aim it well enough to hit its target. That anchor-weighted chain within the barrel had ricocheted perfectly off the large rock opposite, winding back around the three bikers in its path. It really was a lucky shot. For Greasepit, anyway.

The anchor had pulled the unsuspecting mice and their motorcycles downwards, until they were completely submerged in the cool, dark water. It wasn't long before they came to a rest at the bottom. They hadn't gone too deep, but with their arms pinned and their engines stalled, the three of them had drifted helplessly to the silty bed, and sat there wondering what to do about it.

The grey mouse hadn't worried. Despite the predicament, the leader of their trio reminded them that they at least had time to think.

"No need to panic bros, Martian bike helmets are loaded with sweet factory-fresh air." The tan-furred mouse beside him was just stating the obvious; all three had used their helmets in space plenty of times before. But as leader of the group it was his responsibility to keep a clear head and think things through. And Modo was thankful for it. Whilst well endowed with size and strength, he lacked the skill his younger bro had to think clearly under pressure.

The grey mouse shifted on his seat, but there was no way he could free himself nor reach the button for his jets. "Ungh, my arm cannon's pinned, can't...reach..."

"Easy big fella, don't hurt yourself. We got time, let me think..." Throttle appeared to be on the verge of coming up with an idea.

The third of the sunken mice for once had nothing to say, and concentrated his efforts on trying to wriggle free of their bindings. Modo eyed that white-furred mouse on his other side with wonder. The energy the smallest of his friends had seemed to never end, but he doubted that the frantic struggles would really do him any good. "Bro you're going to run out of air if you carry on like that..."

Vinnie pulled a tongue at him, and completely ignored the older mouse's warning. "How much time you think we got Throttle? Enough for Charley-girl to find us?"

"Hopefully we won't need her... we just have to..."

Whatever his tan-furred bro was about to suggest was lost in a cloud of bubbles and gargled surprise.

"What the-?"

Now was the point when he knew things were **not** going to be ok. Someone had just pressed the side of his helmet, and the protective visor shielding his face from the hostile environment outside had vanished. His two bros had received the same treatment, and from what he could make out they had barely had chance to take a breath first.

Their Martian eyes were not well-adapted for underwater vision, nor was his bionic replacement, but Modo could also distinguish a large shape standing in front of them. A man-shaped form, clothed in purple.

_Limburger..! But how...?_

"Ah yes... I thought so." Not only could the odious oppressor breathe down here, but he could talk too.

"Don't look so _surprised_, rodents, I am after all a Plutarkian, a fish that is - when it suits me anyway." The scaly villain grinned with pleasant satisfaction. He had long suspected those helmets had more to them than ordinary models... and now he had just proven his suspicions right. "You three misguided mammals however... Did anyone even bother to teach you how to swim? I do believe such lessons would be a real scarcity on that desert rock you call home."

With a gleeful glance at the imperilled threesome trapped on the lake bed, the pisciform alien pulled off his human mask, revealing several rows of beating gills. "Can't beat evolution, my dear doomed dormice... now kindly sit here long enough to die, and leave me free to get on with being a criminal mastermind."

It turned out that Plutarkians were also excellent swimmers... probably because they had vast quantities of stolen water to practice in.

Modo watched the foul-smelling flounder as he glided away through the depths (quite gracefully too, considering how obese he had become), before turning to his two friends. Their cheeks were full of the last breath they had taken, but it didn't seem like they would be able to hold it much longer.

_Have to get out of here... have to save my bros..._

Despite the larger capacity of his lungs, the grey mouse was starting to struggle for oxygen. His attempts to free himself were draining the precious gas from his blood stream, replacing it with the carbon dioxide he so desperately needed to expel. He allowed a few bubbles to escape his nose and mouth, but the urge to blow it all out and take in a deep gasp was almost overwhelming.

_Bros... hold on... just hold on a little longer..._

He could see the two smaller-lunged mice were fading fast. Bubbles were rising from their own mouths as they failed to contain the gases within them. Both looked confused... _scared..._ they had no concept of what it meant to drown. Neither of them had been alive before most of the larger lakes and ponds on Mars had been drained. And Limburger was right to assume they had never learned to swim. Not even in all the time spent on this planet, this blue planet, where two thirds of the surface is covered by water... and they had never admitted to their human friend they had no idea what to do in it.

Modo had heard somewhere that this was the most peaceful way to die. That it wasn't painful... that you could see your whole life flash before you, before your brain finally ran out of that one vital molecule and your lungs bathed in the suffocating liquid. The irony was that there was plenty of oxygen in the water... just no way for them to access it. It was the one ability the Plutarkians had that the mouse even remotely envied.

_No... no... bros hang on... I'll get us out... hang on..._

He couldn't even see them anymore. His head was fuzzy, his vision clouded. The vessels in his temple throbbed as his heart pounded away, fighting to draw more oxygen from the depleted, sac-filled organs in his chest. His brain was sending urgent signals to his ribs, begging them to contract, pestering them for life.

_Oh Moma... I never thought you would live to see your son die like this. _

Would anyone even find them down here in the muddy depths? Would Charley arrive in the nick of time and pull them free, or had something... or someone... prevented her discovery of them?

_It's too late... can't hold any more... _

The erupting effervescence from the mouse was so forceful it reached the surface of the lake in a boiling froth. His exhausted ribcage could do nothing to prevent the incoming tide flowing beneath as it finally relaxed, and for a brief moment Modo was dimly aware of the freezing chill numbing him from within.

_I'm sorry bros... i'm so sorry..._

Blackness replaced the flash of images in his mind; his last thoughts being for the ones he loved, the ones he lost... and the ones he was now leaving behind.

* * *

_Is someone there..? Wait... wait! I can't see you..!_

The whispers were louder, but he still couldn't find the source. He was on Mars, and the red desert sands were pressing through his clawed toes; their soft grains cascading over his velvet digits and collecting underneath their fleshy pads... It felt so good... so real... the memory was so real... Was it a memory?

More whispers... calling to him. Someone was calling his name.

_Where are you..? Wait for me, don't go!_

He was running in the lifeless wasteland, trying to reach the ones who beckoned him with their voices. Every time he thought he found them there was only emptiness... and the only foot prints in the rusty substrate were his own.

Where were his clothes? It was cold in the Martian deserts... they wouldn't leave him out there naked, surely?

_Bros... is that you?_

The light was fading again, taking the whispers away with the setting sun, leaving him once again in the cold and dark...

_Lub-dup. _

The freezing chill invading him, the oppressive enclosing silence...

_A soft double-beat..._

His friends, he couldn't see them anymore... _Bros...where are you..? Don't leave me here alone..._

_Followed by a steady note...a stream of notes... _

A bright light burning through the dark, a single point. _Is this it..? Is this...?_

"Modo... Modo can you hear me?"

That sound... he recognised that sound... and that voice...

The light eclipsed his pupil once again. It contracted smoothly in response, a reflex, an encouraging sign.

"It's ok Modo... you're ok, you're _all_ ok..."

That soothing, feminine voice. He could feel something touching him... a cold palm gripping his flesh hand. He squeezed back. She grasped him harder.

The beeping was clearer now. Every tinny tone matched the rhythm of his pulse. Steady, continuous... Alive. He tried to lift himself, but felt as if his body were infused with molten lead. He could detect the sharp metal of the canula in his wrist; the plastic tubing in his mouth. In his throat, helping him to breathe. Breathing for him whilst his flooded lungs rested from their struggle. Another sensation; the catheter in his lower parts, relieving him of his needs. It didn't hurt. But something else did.

The memory came back to him in a rush of images and emotions. The mouse strained against the tubes and wires, frantically searching, desperately hoping...

"It's alright Modo, they're here... they're ok... you're all ok now."

Charley's gentle fingers guided his face to his left. Beside him were the prone forms of his two bros, each adorned with the same myriad of life-saving equipment as he. Their monitors joined the chorus of quiet blips indicating they too were alive, that somehow they had also made it from the lake. _But how... we were drowned... we were... dead?_

His body was telling him to rest now. His single garnet eye was closing, shutting out the bright light of the make-shift intensive care ward; whilst his ears muffled out the beeping of the heart monitors, and the clicking of the life support machines. Charley's face swam in a haze, and then her voice dimmed... becoming once more just a whisper in the darkness.

* * *

"I can't believe it's gone. It's really _gone_." Modo stood at the shore of the lake, bewildered by the sight before him. His two bros huddled at his side were equally taken aback. _There_ _was no lake anymore_. There was no water... just a deep ravine filled with silt and mounds of rubbish, and other such things that had come to rest on the stagnant bed. Dead fish and other marooned aquatic life were starting to rot, and the smell from all this waste, all this death, was as nauseating as the reality of what had happened.

Whatever Limburger had wanted that much water for they couldn't imagine. All Plutarkians were driven by the desire to steal whatever they had already wasted of their own resources. A haul of this scale though was beyond the understanding of the three mice. The loathsome fish had taken most of Mars' water before they were even born.

"The sick thing is, bros, if he hadn't taken it... we wouldn't be standing here right now." Throttle hugged his jacket closer to his tan-furred body. This was the first time Charley had let them out for some fresh air, and his body hadn't made the adjustment just yet. But it wasn't just the cold that made him wish for comfort; it was the terrible price of Limburger's greed, and the sinking realisation that that greed had eventually saved their lives.

"I bet old blubber lips didn't think of that when he drained the lake... can't wait to see his face when we show up to kick his butt." The white mouse gestured rudely in the vague direction of the fish's tower. Vinnie would have already had it burned to the ground if it wasn't for the auburn-haired woman insisting they needed to rest. Not that he had minded all that much. He had always fancied a game of 'doctors and nurses' with the lady mechanic. Besides she had been there to pull them from the brink of death, and he owed her some respect for that in the very least.

The three mice stood there for a while longer, contemplating. The chill wind forced them closer together, and the shared feeling of loss and guilt allowed them to seek the warmth from each other without embarrassment. The gentle grey mouse wrapped his long arms around his two smaller bros, drawing them in close, permitting them a brief moment to grieve with him. Something had died on the lake bed that day, and whilst it may not have been him and his two friends, ultimately there was an overwhelming sadness inside them. For knowing that they had lived. And that they had failed.


	11. Pwetty Wady

Sorry been a little busy and took a while to get this one started (I hope i'm not hitting the early signs of writer's block...). Anyway here is another hopefully amusing version of one of the BMFM episodes, I thought the mice could do with a break from being crushed/suffocated etc so I went for something a little less horrible. And I couldn't resist having Limburger in his own little predicament either.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

8. Pwetty Wady

If it hadn't been for the fallen arches and the angry looking bunions glowering on his webbed big toes, he would have enjoyed this most strange of weeks much, much more. It all started with him having been once again at the receiving end of those indomitable rodent doo-gooders, and thus enduring his latest scheme failing spectacularly at their hands. He had thought his day couldn't have gotten much worse, until that is he picked himself up out of the shop window he had just been blasted through and found himself completely attired in ladies clothing. Somehow in that undignified tumble he had even managed a splash of lipstick and foundation to complete the feminising appearance. But ultimately this embarrassing mishap had provided him with an unexpected advantage, and the following few days had by contrast been very good indeed... if a little bit odd.

_That old fish-school rival of mine must be missing more brain cells than I ever could have imagined._

How on earth the impossibly obese (not to mention tall) figure of Lawrence Limburger could be mistaken for a woman was anyone's guess. Even in a floral dress and pointed heels he still looked distinctly masculine... although his efforts to raise the pitch of his voice, while comical, were highly effective. Somehow that day when he had staggered out of the high street shop dressed like a woman, with a blonde, shoulder-length wig crowning his ugly human mask, that crazy Plutarkian from the neighbouring state of Detroit had actually believed he was female. More disturbingly, the squat little sociopath had also thought 'her' to be **highly** desirable.

_Who'd have thought pretending to be my non-existent long, lost niece could be so useful? _

The feminine-looking fish examined himself in the mirror again, making sure his mascara hadn't smudged when he pulled on the dress. The black streak on the collar told him otherwise.

"Karbunkle! I thought I told you to get me Maybelline not Max Factor!" _For heaven's sake now I have to change again..._

Limburger's mad scientist had borne the brunt of the sudden obsession with cross-dressing, but that didn't mean his other half-witted henchman, Greasepit, had been left out of all the fun completely. After all, who else would be dumb enough to believe he even had a niece called Gwendolyn..? And someone had had to test all those flowers and chocolates he had been sent for hidden toxins and such like.

Being the object of someone's desire had given Limburger a bit of a power trip... and he soon had that lusting loser run ragged with all the things he could think of to manipulate the foolish folly to his own gain. This latest development though was something else entirely. On the one hand it may prove to be an effective means of getting rid of the Biker Mice. On the other hand...

"Greasepit, my dear lad... how many times do I have to tell you..? YOU ARE NOT BEING MY BEST MAN!"

The gormless goon had, unfortunately, witnessed the whole embarrassing spectacle of him being proposed to, and was actually _expecting_ him to go through with it. So he had been forced to think of something quick, something to put an end to the ridiculous efforts at romance his rival was bombarding him with. Limburger... or rather Gwendolyn... had said yes... but only if the love-struck lunatic could prove his undying commitment to him by dealing with three rather large thorns in his side. Brie's chances were slim at best.

"Aww but boss..." The oil-covered henchman had been so excited that his employer was getting married. He simply loved weddings... even if he had never actually been to one himself.

"No buts... besides it is customary here on Earth for the groom to choose his best man, not the bride." There was no way Limburger was letting Greasepit be his maid of honour. The Plutarkian shuddered at the thought of the goon in a gown. It was bad enough that Karbunkle was regularly raiding his wardrobe without his expensively-acquired lingerie being contaminated with rancid grease as well.

What he was going to do if Brie succeeded in wiping out those Martian mice was something else he didn't want to think about right now. He had other business to attend to, and make-up issues aside what he really needed was to go shopping for a new girdle.

* * *

That maniacal laughter was going to really start getting on their nerves. They had seen a few (usually hasty) victory dances in their time, but this one was simply off the scale in terms of crazy. The weird thing about it was that he kept on going on about some woman he wanted to marry, and how pleased she would be with him. _But for what... capturing us?_

"You know you really should be more careful with who you choose to flirt with, Vincent..."

"Yeah bro, whoever she was you must have p***** her off grand style for her to sick this slimy little stink-fish on us."

The white mouse looked affronted. How his two bros could always assume it was his fault when something went wrong he didn't know... but the only lady he could think of who he might have upset from time to time (probably a lot more times than he would admit to) wasn't this vindictive surely..?

"No way bros, there's no way anyone in their right mind would ask that nut-job a favour..." It took him a few seconds to interpret the withering looks his two friends were giving him. "Uh, and that doesn't mean this is my fault!"

The three mice weren't in a position to debate the fine details of their latest predicament. They didn't usually have many dealings with the Plutarkian from Detroit, but for whatever the purpose his of business in Chicago, capturing them must have been a part of the plan. Napoleon Brie had just succeeded in luring them straight into his cleverly concealed trap... a large cage of Plutarkian glass steel, mounted (for convenience) on the back of a trailer. A second of these contained their bikes. He had even installed a set of automatic, heat-seeking manacles to ensure his captives had less chance of escape, and these had shot straight out at the mice's wrists before they had even registered their surprise at being caught.

With Modo's arm cannon pinned by the cuff, and with their laser pistols confiscated, all they could do was wait and see what the malodorous maniac had in store for them.

"Gwendowyn my wuv, I have done as you asked, I have those thwee wascally wodents in my cwutches, and now we can finawy get mawweed!"

"Anyone have any idea what he just said?" Throttle had been straining his ears to eavesdrop on the phone conversation going on outside their enclosure, but it had been extremely difficult to decipher anything that came out of the fish's mouth.

"Umm... apparently we are some kind of dowry... Who in this galaxy would want to marry _him_ anyway?" The very thought made Modo wrinkle his face in disgust.

"What's a dowry?"

"Honestly Vinnie... do you ever listen to anything Charley tells you?" The tan mouse looked down at his smaller cousin in disbelief. _Must go in one ear and out the other... _Unlike him and Modo, the white-furred biker was crouched down between them, as his chains had shot upward from the steel floor and promptly tethered him to it.

Brie had concluded his gushing garbling down the phone, and pranced over to his prisoners with unconcealed glee. Once there he paused by their trailer, looking suddenly very thoughtful.

"Hmm... how best to pwesent you to my deawest Gwendowyn... you will make a fine gift for the wedding, yes... but I want this to be special... hmm..."

Brie's lead henchman leant against the steel bars, leering up at the chained mice. He was hoping his exuberant executive would give him a few moments alone with them before he presented the three to his ludicrously large-bosomed love-interest.

"You low-rent Chicago boys aren't so tough now huh...? Just let me in there for five minutes Brie, i'll make sure they are all nice and presentable for your lady friend..." He flashed a wicked grin through his thick, ginger beard, and rubbed his rather large laser rifle menacingly with his gloved fingers_. I owe them for the last time, just give me chance..._

"Hmmm... no I think not... too bwuddy... Gwendowyn won't want to us to wuin her wedding dwess..." He rubbed his own podgy fingers over his hideous-looking mask. Taking them to her in a cage wasn't nearly going to be good enough for his special lady. It had to be something better... something spectacular... something dazzling yet... _devious_. And he knew exactly what that something would be.

* * *

Limburger had seriously been hoping it wouldn't come to this, and if there was any way at all he could get out of it he would be sure to give it a go. Short of actually killing the miniature monstrosity... he felt certain Lord Camembert would take exception to that (he had always favoured Brie), he was going to have to find some wriggling room and pronto. If he could just find a way for those mice to meet their makers before he was forced to see this calamitous charade through to the end...

"Damn that Brie, why is it that he can spend an afternoon in my city and defeat those wretched rodents, whilst I _live_ here and have to put up with failing to even lay a finger on them day after day after day?"

There was one other option available to him to avoid a life of hellish holy matrimony. Brie was going to have to fail. If it came to it he would release those mice himself, and hopefully get to enjoy watching them take their revenge on his rival... and if he was really lucky they might just leave him and his tower alone for once. _But i'm not that lucky, if I was I wouldn't even be considering this... __**again**__. There's only so many times a villain can be nice to his arch nemeses. _

Limburger hadn't forgotten that day in the warehouse. Sometimes he really wondered what side of the line he actually stood on.

"Ah well, best get this over with." Picking up the phone to summon his demented doctor for dress duties, the purple-suited Plutarkian groaned inwardly. Karbunkle was going to moan at him for biting his nails again. Clearly the doctor didn't understand how stressful it was trying to pull off such a complex deception as this... and everybody knew that pre-wedding jitters were perfectly normal. Even if the wedding itself was anything but.

* * *

"Uh... bros... I'm not so sure we are going to have much of a good time at this wedding..."

From what he could see, Brie's idea for how to present them was going to be darn right unpleasant. The trailer had been driven into a large abandoned factory not far from the city limits, and it appeared the fish was using the place for practically all of his wedding preparations. And that included preparing the three of them.

Throttle was yanked out of the steel cage by the Plutarkian's number one goon, the long-haired, ginger-bearded thug who had once in a previous encounter almost knocked the tan-mouse unconscious with his gun. The Detroit-based doom rangers had no time for anyone from Chicago, especially not crime-fighting Martian bikers.

"I got one here for you Brie... you sure you don't want me to tenderise him for you first?"

The red-headed henchman pulled the struggling mouse towards his boss. "I'm sure once they're frozen she won't even notice the bruises..."

Brie was still fiddling with the controls to his latest piece of equipment... a large vat of translucent frothing liquid, with puffs of white vapour trickling downwards over the edge. This was the first time he had tinkered with cryogenics, and whilst he was sure the three mice would come out looking like the sparkling cake-decorations he was aiming for... he wasn't too confident they would survive the process.

"Not now number one... the wedding is tomowo and I want evewything weady... things have to be pufect...whatever my wuvwy Gwendowyn wants, my wuvwy Gwendowyn gets!"

"Fine... just don't come crying to me when she sees them running away from the reception because they've melted and you didn't let me incapacitate them first." Number one huffed. If Limburger's track record was anything to go by, he wouldn't be surprised if the mice escaped before the big day had even arrived.

Grabbing Throttle roughly by his tan-furred scruff, the doom ranger propelled him towards the giant tank of coolant. The mouse was bound by rope and unable to free himself, although he did initially make a valiant effort to swat the man across the face with his tail. Unfazed, the goon had simply grabbed the long appendage and used it to drag him from the trailer. He switched to the scruff hold because he knew that in some mammalian species this was meant to have a soporific, almost paralytic effect. And it had produced a remarkably similar result with the Martian mouse. Throttle went virtually limp in his grip, though his face still registered a look of shock that he had been so easily overcome. _I'm toast... or maybe ice... oh crap..._

His face was mere millimetres from the freezing fluid when Brie shouted. He was so close his sensitive whiskers had brushed the surface, freezing instantly as they did.

"Wait!" The Plutarkian's reservations about the scientific instrument's effectiveness had caused him to re-think his plans for the cake's rodent-shaped decorations. It would be much safer to find a method that definitely would not kill the mice. Gwendolyn might decide she wanted to keep them after their big day... and they would certainly be useful for jobs around the house. He was sure they would soon have plenty of offspring, so the three mice would make fitting babysitters for their spawn.

All three Martian bikers breathed a collective sigh of relief. None of them particularly wanted to be the first of their kind to experience such untested technology. And the possibility of them thawing out in several decades time to find the whole of Earth under Plutarkian rule... Charley would probably never forgive them.

"What you think he is going to do instead?" Vinnie whispered to his older friend chained above him, who shook his large grey head in response. As far as he was concerned, anything the fish came up with was not going to be for their benefit, and knowing beforehand what was in store for them wasn't any more comforting than being completely in the dark.

"I don't know bro... but at least he changed his mind before Throttle took a bath in that stuff."

Over by the vat the tan-mouse was thinking the same thing. His facial fur was frosted with a thin dusting of ice, and his whiskers were so brittle from the cold they had actually snapped clean off. It was a small blessing they were so numb that he hadn't been able to feel it.

"What is it you want with us you stinking scumbag?" he snarled, by now getting thoroughly fed up of being dragged around the place like a sack of potatoes.

He wasn't given an answer; Number one had found his chance to dish out some revenge of his own and was determined to take it before his boss could stop him. He grabbed the struggling mouse so hard by his scruff that he yelped loudly, and he was about to bury the heavy butt of his rifle into Throttle's belly when Brie interrupted. The doom ranger growled in frustration. _This had better be good Brie... this had really better be good._

* * *

"Hurry up you malafact moron, i'm going to be late for my own wedding and you're worried about... whatever the hell you are doing down there!" Limburger couldn't believe he was in a hurry to go and tie the knot with his addle-brained adversary, nor could he fathom why it was this moment that Karbunkle had chosen to test his diminishing patience. How many pairs of shoes did that deranged doctor even own?

"I'm sorry your sumptuous stiltonness... i'm ready whenever you are." The mad scientist clambered into the purple limousine a few minutes later wearing what appeared to be a modified version of the Plutarkian's normal clothing... and he was also sporting a new pair of matching lilac suede, knee-high, kitten-heeled boots.

_How the hell did he find a tailor good enough to do that I wonder... and at whose expense? _

"Thank goodness I already sent that greasy gibboned goon of mine ahead to see if that narcissist i'm engaged to has indeed captured the biker mice." Secretly Limburger was relieved to get rid of Greasepit for a few hours... the dry cleaning bill for the oil spots on his clothing was surely going to bankrupt him, and with the gallingly high price tag this dress came at, it just wasn't worth the risk of ruining it. "If Brie really has those mice, I expect you to carry out my orders as already discussed, dear doctor. And have my lawyer on speed dial. If worse comes to the worse I can always go for an annulment."

* * *

It was a very peculiar feeling, though not altogether unpleasant. Once they had gotten over the trauma of what had to have been the single largest hypodermic needle they had ever seen coming their way, the resulting injection had pretty much wiped away any and all feeling in their well-formed bodies.

Number one had finally had his moment of glory when he stuck the 7 gauge needle directly into the bulging thigh muscles of each of the mice in turn, although only the two larger ones had had anything to say about it... Vinnie had passed clean out just at the sight of the syringe. After two short, sharp screams, all of the mice had fallen under the powerful effects of the paralytic, and then each had been mounted on the wire supports atop the giant wedding cake.

"Everything's ready Brie... let's go do this before they wake up."

The cake itself was five tiers of icing-encrusted fruit cake (appropriate considering the nature of the groom), although persuading any of the guests to consume it would be interesting to say the least. The fish-like alien had insisted on a generous helping of slime worms being added into the mix before baking. The idea to paralyse the mice struck him when he saw his top goon dangling one of them by the scruff.

With the cake and its furry decorations loaded up on the truck, Brie signalled his fleet of doom rangers to head on out to the chapel he had chosen for the ceremony. The reverend had been paid off generously for his discretion, and the reception was to be held back at the factory. There at least there would be plenty of ice for the guest's drinks.

"Ah here she is, my beautiful betwothed!" Brie was so eager to get to his bride-to-be he fell face first out of his truck, just missing a deep muddy puddle. "Gwendowyn my wuv, I knew you wud come to me."

Limburger groaned as he saw the wedding cake in the back of the truck. _Drat it... why haven't they made mince meat of this madman yet – is it just me they always manage to escape from!_

Putting on the best lady-like voice he could muster, the crossed-dressed Plutarkian allowed the groom to kiss his silk-gloved hand. "My dear little Brie... I see you have brought me those nasty, nasty mice... and oh my that cake just looks divine... how DID you manage it?"

"Don't you wowwy my wuvwy, they won't be bothewing you again...I thought you might wike to keep them aftewuds, they wiw make bwiwiant babysitters for ouw offspwing don't you think?"

"Our... offspwing... I mean _offspring_?" This alarming revelation was something he had not even considered before today. _Karbunkle you dolt get a move on before this creepy cretin tries to get me into bed with him._

"Yes my wuv, we can have wots and wots of wittle ones, a huge nusewy, and those thwee wodents can wook afte them and we can make wots more!"

Clearly Brie was fed up of the lonely lifestyle a Plutarkian posted on Earth was expected to lead. _Lots of children? If he even lays a finger on me I swear... _Limburger was far too busy trying to destroy Chicago to expend any more energy indulging his insane competitor from the motor city. "Brie my darling... just give me a minute to freshen up won't you... I will follow you right in I promise."

From their vantage point on the cake top the three immobilised mice were watching the bizarre drama playing out below them. Although the drug had completely impaired their ability to move (they were fortunate it still allowed them to breathe) they were not in fact unconscious, but very much aware of what was going on around them. And even from where they were mounted, they could see that the woman in the wedding dress for whom they had been captured was not a woman at all. They recognised that rank whiff of mouldy cheese and unwashed socks the moment it had reached their little black noses. _Limburger!_

If they had been able to move they probably would have cried laughing. Limburger in a dress. Limburger getting married? To Brie? No way. Now they really had seen everything.

Their ears were also functioning perfectly well, and each pair of large, furry lobes detected a shuffling in the container holding the cake.

"Hold still you ridiculous rodents." Karbunkle clearly hadn't realised the three mice could do little else. The skulking scientist was executing the orders given to him by his boss before they had left the tower. _If he has the mice and they don't look like they are going to escape any time soon... go and give them a hand will you. I don't want to spend longer than I have to in this b***** white dress!_

What Karbunkle hadn't prepared for was the mice being _completely_ unable to escape, even after he had cut them from their supports. _Oh dear... now what?_

Though slight of build and feeble-framed, the skinny scientist was deceptively strong. As he had no other option available he had to resort to carrying the mice off the cake himself, dumping each of them in the back seat of the limousine (although he decided it would be fun to shove one of them in the trunk... and Vinnie was the only one who would easily fit). Having no idea what Brie had drugged them with, he decided it would also be a good idea to take further precautions. Several minutes and numerous swear words later, each felt-furred body was restrained with the only things available in the plush vehicle. Karbunkle had found a wad of extra-strong cable ties stored in the glove box (for emergencies like this apparently). With their wrists and ankles each tied together, none of the three mice looked likely to be able to free themselves even if the paralytic did wear off. Especially as poor Modo's arm cannon was cable-tied as well.

"I've done it your cherished cheesiness..." the doctor breathed exhaustedly into his radio.

"Excellent... and not a moment too soon..." whispered Limburger down his concealed microphone just as the reverend was reciting the vows. _That was too close... how difficult can it be to get those vile voles to escape?_

The white-clad 'woman' turned to her prospective partner on the altar, not caring at all that he was about to brutally break the groom's heart. "I'm sorry Brie, it's over... I can't love a man who can't even give me what I want."

"But... but Gwendowyn... wait! I don't understand!"

"The cake, Brie, _**my cake**_... those decorative mice.. they've gone. You've ruined my day, you've ruined my life, I HATE you, don't ever contact me again!" And with all the drama of a jilted spouse, Limburger stormed out of the chapel leaving the bewildered Napoleon Brie sobbing inconsolably into the priest's tunic.

* * *

The weird week had ended quite fantastically for the now-single Plutarkian. Not only had he over-indulged on sickly slime worm-centred chocolates, but he had also successfully shook off that lecherous loony and then captured the biker mice for himself after all. The unknown paralytic agent administered whilst in Brie's care had taken several hours to wear off, by which time Limburger had ensured the mice had been made quite 'comfortable' in his tower's laboratory. Karbunkle had been simply delighted to have a second chance to work on the three Martian rebels.

Not wanting to waste a moment of their vulnerable state, the doctor had had them strapped down onto a row of cold-metal examination tables and hurriedly began drawing off as much of their blood as he could safely get away with. With a drug powerful enough to actually knock the sturdy-bodied mice out, who was he to pass up the opportunity to try and find the mystery chemical residing in their helpless bodies?

By the time the paralysis had worn off, none of the furry freedom fighters had the energy to even try and escape. They spent the following few hours enduring being stuck repeatedly with a varied assortment of needles, as Karbunkle tested each and every batch of his reverse-engineered drugs on them. He mistakenly thought he had succeeded on the first try... but quickly realised Vinnie had only feinted.

Alas the doctor's fortunes were short lived. Just as he thought he had managed to reproduce the stupefying properties into a useable potion, the doors to the basement laboratory had burst open, revealing three revving motorcycles and one very angry female rider. The look on her face would have made Medusa jealous, and so Karbunkle decided to call it a day whilst he still could. Charley and the bikes made light work of the table's restraints, and soon three dazed mice were heading home to the glorious background melody of crumbling high-rise concrete. It turned out that Brie had been a little more than upset at being left at the altar. Gwendolyn's uncle evidently forgot that scorned psychopaths don't need an excuse for retribution.


	12. Verminator

This was another episode I always planned on doing, though once again I wasn't sure at the start where it would end up. There were aspects of the relationships between the mice and Charley I wanted to touch on a little here, though i'm not sure I actually accomplished what I was trying to do. This is one of those stories which has a big impact on the mice. It's not a nice story, sorry folks.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

9. Verminator

Everything had gone to plan. Well, so far anyway. He hated seeing his strong yet fragile friend so broken and so hopeless. It was a chance for him to do something good for the oldest of the three bros, and whilst all agreed it was outrageously dangerous, insane even, there was no better mouse for the job than him. He, Vincent van Wham, was going to get Modo a new bionic arm, even if he had to risk his life in order to do it. Not that he really considered it much of a risk. Danger was relative after all, and he was up there in the ranks of most extreme daredevil in the galaxy (perhaps second only to one such alien relative of Elvis, the bony, purple-skinned mad-man, Evil Eye Weevil). This was going to be a blast, and afterwards he would reap the rewards of his sacrifices in the form of hot dogs, root beer and a good session of hearty back-slapping.

Earlier that week they had been travelling the thronging streets of Chicago during the heavy commuter traffic, heading to their hangout after a relaxing day by the lake, when suddenly all hell had broken loose. Vehicles were colliding with each other left right and centre, and debris of all kinds was flying around in the chaos, seemingly drawn and repelled to other objects at the same time, their movements random and unpredictable. The three mice had been happily minding their own business this day, until that is they spied Greasepit and his cronies riding out the disarray as if nothing were even wrong. They knew at that point this was not a chance event at all. This was Limburger's doing.

They had no idea how exactly, but everything metal seemed to be affected by the unseen force, and that included their bikes. They leapt off and tried to take out the grinning goon and his henchmen, but at a signal from him the force blasted out directly at them and knocked the unsuspecting mice to the ground, the very substance of their bodies pinned by the powerful invisible wave.

There had been no time to think of an alternative, the truck was out of control and heading straight for him. Modo was stuck fast to the road's surface by his metal right arm, and as strong as he was he could not detach it from the ground. With only a second to spare he disengaged the bionic attachment to his own body and threw himself to safety. His arm had not been so lucky.

Thankfully whatever devious device was attacking them must have malfunctioned, or else the person controlling it was distracted, and the mice were able to escape the scene and regroup at the scoreboard to tend their wounds.

Charley had tried her very best to fix it, but poor Modo's arm was beyond saving. He was going to need a new one.

The miserable grey mouse looked bleakly at the mangled metal mess he had re-attached to his shoulder. The only person capable of giving him a replacement was the person who had given him the first. Karbunkle. That despicable doctor had removed the broken biological limb back on Mars, taking full advantage of the injuries sustained by the mice during one fateful battle; the day that they had been captured and sequestered in the mad scientist's laboratory, and then experimented on in his quest to turn them into bionic slaves for Plutark.

The white mouse knew his older friend would not be able to face another session at the hands of that deviant. He, on the other hand... he had an idea that was sure to succeed. He would score Modo a new wing by manipulating Karbunkle into making another arm. All he had to do was allow himself to be captured by the hopelessly moronic Greasepit, and then pretend that the grey-furred Martian's arm was in fact the secret to _all_ their heroic achievements.

So far so good. He was strapped into a metal chair in the Tower's basement laboratory, his wrists and ankles clamped down by thick steel cuffs, whilst his back and legs rested uncomfortably on the sharp ridges of the chair's frame. This seat was not meant for relaxing that was for sure.

Limburger and his evil doctor were looming over him, intent on some kind of unpleasantness for the helpless mouse. This was his cue. He feigned panic when they approached, and began a rapid, nervous-sounding babble, gushing out words designed to nudge the two men into thinking he had just blurted out something useful... something supposedly top secret.

"Pleeease... don't make me tell you the biker mice _secret weapon_..."

That caught their attention.

"Oh, what's that you say... a secret weapon...?" The portly figure of the fish-like alien had his ears pricked now. He had been quite content to just allow Karbunkle to have some fun with the insufferable rodent, but now he might have cause to change his mind...

Limburger nodded to his underling, who pulled out a device with a number of scary-looking attachments and wielded it at the shivering biker with alarming intent. The mouse responded with mock-terror, and continued his well-rehearsed script just as he had planned.

"Hmm... bionic arms you say... give my goons bionic arms..." The Plutarkian rubbed the chin of his mask thoughtfully_. I'm not sure even a bionic arm would make much difference where Greasepit is concerned... but..._

"But how about something else my dear doctor, how about a whole bionic mouse for us to play with..?"

Dr. Karbunkle looked delighted at the idea. Vinnie did not.

"A whole... mouse?" _Uh oh... this isn't good at all..._ "No, no, no... that's not what I meant, just an arm... _oh man_... not a whole mouse..." Well at least Modo might still get an arm out of it, he thought, and plenty of other spare body parts too – which no doubt he was going to need if this robot was even half as good as the grey mouse's metal right limb.

* * *

"So you think he's actually going to pull this off bro?" Whilst Modo was in no doubt the youngest of the three mice was crazy enough to go through with such a hazardous and totally hare-brained mission, even he knew that guts and ego were not infallible.

"Sure, why not, Vinnie might be a little... uh... eager... sometimes but somewhere in that thick skull of his is a mastermind that's dying to get some action... he just somehow manages to ignore it most of the time." The tan mouse finished buffing the scratches on his bike's bodywork, and stood back to take a look at the results. Some days he wished that their dealings with Limburger didn't have to involve their bikes getting trashed. At least _his_ ride didn't go flying off the roof of a five-story building. Charley was having to work double time to get that red racer back in working order.

"Well so long as he's ok is all." The gentle grey giant would not be able to forgive himself if something bad happened to his friend, his arm wasn't worth the life of one of his bros. _Charley's not too happy about this either..._

Across the other side of the modest-sized garage workshop the female mechanic was examining the damaged bike, though from the look on her face her mind was clearly elsewhere. She appreciated just how close the three bros were, and how they would do literally anything for one another with no thought to their own safety (and frequently extended this chivalry to her own well-being), but nonetheless she felt that this whole machismo thing went a little far sometimes. _Don't do anything stupid Vinnie... I want you back in one piece..._

"You alright Charley... you seem a little distracted?" Both bikers had noticed how quiet the woman had been since their friend's planned capture.

"Huh... what? Yeah... yeah i'm fine, just got a lot on my mind, and this bike's pretty banged up..." She trailed off, losing herself once more in her thoughts. _Come back safe you stupid, stupid mouse or i'll..._ She didn't know what she would do. She couldn't imagine a scenario where that mouse didn't come bursting through her garage doors with his exuberant victory cries rattling the windows of the building. And that he might not come back at all... she simply could not comprehend it.

Throttle and Modo glanced at each other across the room. Both had their fingers crossed that their bro wasn't in over his head this time.

* * *

Vinnie was starting to realise he hadn't thought this whole thing through very well at all. Sure he had planted the idea of making another bionic limb into the insidious inventor's mind, but he didn't plan on Limburger coming up trumps with wanting an entire rodent-like body attached to it.

He watched the diabolical doc at work as he carefully crafted a metal monster in the mouse's image; moulding the steel plates into the contours of his muscles, welding together the joints of his limbs, and threading the wiring for the bionic nervous system that would control the robotic body. Biomechanics apparently was one of Karbunkle's strong points. The same couldn't be said of his artistic abilities... the resemblance to the white mouse was superficial at best.

After only a few days the machine was completely assembled. The delighted doctor admired his work with obvious triumph. _Yes... this is just what we need to wipe the floor with those infuriating fur-balls._

There was only one thing lacking. The robot was still just a robot; it had no mind of its own, no intelligence behind the wiring, no brain behind the computer. For this thing to do what they wanted it needed more than just some idiot with a joystick. It needed a soul... or at least someone else's... in order to complete it.

"Ah... yes... one last thing to do my dear little mouse..." Karbunkle turned to the white-furred figure still clamped down to the chair in the lab. His face split with an almost maniacal grin. This was the bit he was going to enjoy the most.

The immobilised living mouse squirmed in his seat, feeling suddenly very nervous about the expression on the mad scientist's face. His eyes widened with alarm when he noticed the large-bore hypodermic needle he was carrying.

"Uh... wh-wh-what's _that_ for...? Vinnie really, really hated needles. He couldn't understand why he had to get a shot when the robot was already built; what could stabbing him with a pointy metal stick possibly have to do with working the bionic machine?

"Oh this is nothing you miserable Martian, this you have nothing to worry about..."

With one swift movement the doctor had slid the sharp-tipped instrument into one of the bulging veins on the mouse's arm, and pushed the plunger to the syringe. _At last I finally get to properly test this stuff out... _

Within minutes of the drug entering his blood stream the Martian had stopped moving. He was still breathing, and still aware of everything around him, but he could not move any part of his body, nor could he speak. The paralytic agent was working perfectly.

Karbunkle signalled the goons guarding the door to the subterranean space, who pulled the limp bundle of fur from the chair and carried him to one of the examination tables at the edge of the room. To this the mouse was strapped down, his arms cuffed to the t-shaped projections from the sides of the table, whilst his legs were slightly splayed and fixed to its bottom edges. A strap across his chest and forehead completed the set of restraints. Even once the paralytic wore off, there would be no escape for the white-furred Martian.

_Oh crap this is not what I planned for at all..._

Vinnie had not considered for a moment that there would be more to this little ruse of his. It did not cross his mind that he would end up being the subject of yet another of Karbunkle's evil experiments.

The mad medic was busy gathering a disconcerting array of medical supplies; wires, tubes and, worse still, surgical tools. He lay out the equipment onto a trolley, which he wheeled over to the prone form on the table.

Giving the android a personality was going to involve some rather unpleasant procedures for the paralysed prisoner, and he had no intention of using _any_ form of anaesthetic. Unlike Brie's chemical concoction, his own version of the drug he had engineered did not completely take away feeling from its recipient. Fred the Mutant had been a very willing volunteer to get that little modification just right. _That mal-formed masochist does have his uses... sometimes._

Bending low over the frightened face of his subject, Karbunkle murmured softly into one of the large, white lobes. "Don't worry... this won't hurt a bit..."

The ensuing laughter did nothing to reassure the mouse. And when he saw the scalpel that was heading towards his body, Vinnie knew without a doubt this was not going to hurt a bit. This was going to hurt a lot.

* * *

"Oh man this is boring..."

Two mice were sat fidgeting on their motorcycles whilst waiting for any signs that the odious Plutarkian or his side-kicks were making a move. They had been out there for hours now, observing the activities around the fish's tower... and nothing more exciting than a dead fly had even vaguely happened under their watch.

Throttle yawned, his mind dulled from the lack of action. His stomach was also starting to protest now. "Think we ought to call it a day?"

The grey mouse nodded. "Yeah bro, nothing's goin' on here... and i'm starvin' – lets go get some eats."

"Great idea big fella, and i'm sure Charley-girl's going to have finished for the day too. We really should go check on her."

It wasn't long before the two hungry bikers pulled up in the Last Chance Garage, pulling off their helmets and dumping the huge tray of hot dogs down on the kitchen table. There was no sign of their female friend.

"Charley...? You home?" Modo's deep-toned voice rumbled enquiringly in the downstairs living area.

"Maybe she's upstairs... i'll go look." The tan mouse did not have to search too hard before he found the woman. She was curled up on her bed, hugging her pillow close to her and looking decidedly upset. She was surrounded by what must have been an entire boxful of used tissues. "Uh, Charley, are you alright? What happened?"

He didn't really have to ask to know what was wrong. It had been several days now and still there had been no word from their bro. He knew the mechanic was worried sick about the white-furred mouse being interred somewhere within Limburger's filthy grasp. And the last time any one of them had been away this long things had not exactly been... encouraging.

"It's nothing... i'm... i'm just being silly... i'm sure he's ok, he always is." Charley sniffed, her hands shaking as she dabbed her runny nose with her hanky. "I just... I just..." _I just miss him so much, and it's not even been a week... what the hell's wrong with me? _ Vinnie had done dangerous things plenty of times... but not like this. She hadn't felt like this before... _Before it was just him and me against the world._

By now Modo had joined them in the tiny bedroom, filling the doorway with his hulking frame. He looked at Charley's tear-stained face with horror, and quickly reached down to the bed and pulled the weeping woman into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry Charley-ma'am, this is all my stupid fault... if anything happens to Vinnie..."

"Easy big fella, i'm sure he's alright, the Vin-man's seen much worse than whatever old blubber lips can throw at him. You just wait, he will be back before long with a brand new arm for you, and we will never hear the end of just how amazing and heroic he is..." Throttle rolled his eyes, but secretly he felt even the insufferable boasting of their ego-maniac bro was better than nothing at all.

* * *

By now the agonising screams were clearly audible. The paralysis had worn off and he struggled frantically against the strong restraints, trying desperately to get away from the source of the all-consuming torment he was going through. But he was going nowhere, and the man at his side pressed the button on his small controller, sending another jolt of electricity through the writhing, crying mouse. He screamed again, his body spasming in response to the voltage, arching upwards but held down tightly by the bindings.

It had been bad enough when the evil scientist had connected all the wires and tubes to his immobile body. Some had been attached to him via an assortment of hypodermic needles slipped under his skin or into his veins, others were in the form of catheters inserted into his various orifices, exposed or otherwise. The worst though were the wires. Those had been implanted into the muscles of his torso and limbs directly, the scalpel blades making short work of the epidermal layers covering the pink tissues beneath. He hadn't been able to cry out during that procedure, but he had felt every single cut and every single stitch the monstrous medic had made.

Once he had been able to move again, and before the repeated zapping had begun, his mouth had been forced open and a large plastic shield pushed in over his teeth. This was for him to bite down on, and Vinnie had soon discovered why he had needed it. Every time the current surged through him his jaw clamped down hard, and would probably have resulted in the severing of his tongue had it not been for the protective guard.

_No...no not again, pleeease... _

Karbunkle was enjoying the torture the mouse was enduring, but this was only a pleasing side effect of the process to give the machine its life. The tubes in the mouse were extracting the various biological components he needed to make the interface for the robot, and the wiring was assisting in calibrating the instrument so that it worked at the same frequency and in the same rhythm as the mouse's body. The last thing he had to do was create the connection between the Martian and his machine.

The interface device was ready, and Karbunkle pulled a bundle of leads protruding from the box and attached a number of the electrodes to Vinnie's head, whilst the rest were plugged into the chamber containing the robot. He flicked the switch on his controller, and the antennae on both the bot and the mouse began to glow intensely red.

For the mouse, this resulted in a very weird-feeling experience. His vision blurred, and the sounds of the equipment in the laboratory became muffled. He felt like he was sinking, his mind drifting deeply into a trance-like state... almost like he were sleep walking. A small part of him was still aware of his surroundings... but the rest just seem to melt into the background of his latent subconscious.

With the first stage of the process complete, the doctor pulled a lever and the robot was heaved out of the container and into a second, similar-looking one. Both had contained an electro-conductive fluid media, and this second one would seal the link forged between the mouse's brain and the android's computer. After turning up the dial on the control, Karbunkle flipped the switch for the final time.

Now it was like being jolted out of a bad dream and finding yourself standing somewhere you didn't remember going to. He could see the laboratory through the bluish haze of the electrolyte bath, and he could feel the mechanical hoist pulling him upwards and out onto the open floor. He could see a white-furred body lying limply on a metal table, with all the wires and tubes poking out of its skin, and the metal cuffs holding it firmly in place. Somewhere inside there was a tiny voice, trying to tell him something, trying to be heard amongst the roaring sound of the other thoughts dominating his mind.

Then there was another voice, speaking to him from in the room. He recognised the voice, though he didn't know why. It was telling him something. Telling him to do something. Telling him he had to be somewhere and do something... and be someone. Someone bad. He had to go and do something bad.

The tiny voice inside was protesting, but the other voices drowned it out. They were in charge, and he was to do whatever they wanted. And without knowing any reason why, he obeyed the directions given to him, and did not for one moment question the terrible purpose of his existence.

* * *

The electricity substation was an unmanned building most of the time. Everything was monitored remotely, and engineers only visited for scheduled maintenance or, if necessary, when a fault had developed in the system and repairs were necessary on site. But most of the time, like today, there was no one there at all, and the only security was through CCTV and a high-tech alarm system, which was meant to alert the necessary people when anyone unauthorised was detected in the grounds.

For one very influential figure in the city, this was no hurdle. He knew exactly who to pay off to gain access to the plant, and no alarms would be sounding today whilst his henchmen carried out his latest orders.

_Even if those blasted mice show up they won't stand a chance... not with my new guard to send them on their way... _

Limburger was exceptionally pleased with his latest toy. It responded to him better than any of his other useless goons, and he merely had to tell it what he wanted, and it would do exactly as he asked without hesitation. The only annoying thing about it was its uncanny resemblance to the one it had been designed from... and who was also powering the circuitry of its electronic brain.

_I can't wait to see the look on those miserable Martian's faces when they see him. They won't have a clue what's in store for them._

He wasn't going to have to wait too long, the greasy idiot overseeing the operation to tap into the city's power supply was already reporting in that two mice had been sighted at the substation gates.

Throttle and Modo pulled up at the supposedly unmanned building, and recognised the oily trail left by the rancid smelling goon leading inside.

"My hunch was right bro... I knew Limburger would be after a larger supply of power, although what I don't get is why he took so long to make a move." The tan mouse noted also the lack of the usual army of henchmen that by now surely would have noticed their arrival.

"Well whatever he's up to, i'd bet my right arm it had something to do with that wave gun thingy that trashed half of down town last week." Turning his grey-furred face Modo glanced down at the crumpled remains of the bionic attachment on his right side. It seemed he had already placed his wager on the matter. "Where is everyone anyway...? I'd have thought Limburger would have had plenty of time to equip his entire goon army with bionic arms by now... why aren't they out here showing them off?"

"I dunno bro, I don't have a very good feeling about this." He paused, contemplating their entry strategy. Do they go in hot, or do they take advantage of the lack of resistance and hope that they simply had not been seen yet? A compromise was in order. "Attack mode bikes, we might find the welcoming committee is making this a surprise party.. and we're the uninvited guests."

The two of them pressed onwards into the ground of the substation, and still no laser fire greeted them. The rode further in, finally reaching the doors to the control room. A quick glance at the bolted door told them no one was inside there at least.

Wondering where the foolish felon could be hiding, they decided to take a look around the back of the building. As they rounded the corner the spotted the van parked up by one of the service ports. And there was Greasepit... fiddling with several thick cables connecting some sort of cube-shaped device to the external access point.

"Aha, we found him... and the dim-witted stooge came alone!" A gesture from the tan-mouse signalled the attack, but before they could even reach the bumbling idiot someone shouted their names. And the voice was disturbingly familiar.

"Oh Throttle! Modo! Yoo-hoo!"

From the other side of the van came the over-sized but scarily like-life mechanical mouse. He not only looked like Vinnie, but he sounded like him too.

"What the -?" Both of the flesh-and-blood Martians gasped in surprise at the sight of the robot.

"What the heck is that thing?" Modo could see the resemblance to his youngest bro... but was confused as to what it was doing here with Greasepit...

"Uh, if I was to guess i'd say that was your new arm bro... but there appears to be a whole new mouse attached to it."

They soon discovered this version of their comrade was not there to make friends with them. The antennae on its head pulsed as it received its orders, and with all the bravado of the mouse it resembled it started firing its laser cannons, whilst at the same time yelling their classic mantra "_It's tail whipping time_!"

"Urgh that's just like Vinnie alright... what do you think bro, it's going to take a few shots from our bike cannons to take that thing out?"

Throttle agreed, and the two of them began a complicated manoeuvre designed to sweep the robot off its feet and give them the freedom to fire a few ropes around it in the process. But the attack failed before they had even got a chance to fully execute it. They tried another, and another, but everything they did the robot foiled, screaming with laughter just as Vinnie would have done. It was a very disturbing turn of events.

"It's like it knows what we are going to do before we even do..." The tan mouse was running out of ideas, but he had one last trick to try.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you... rodents..."

The bodiless voice drifted to them from a loud-speaker on top of the van. _Limburger?_

The Plutarkian's disembodied laughter made up their resolve, but just as they were about to fire everything they had at the robot, the laughing stopped.

"Any damage to our interesting little robot will instantly fry the _tiny_ mind that's powering it."

The side door to the van slid open, revealing the unconscious form of their bro strapped down to a chair, with several electrodes connecting the top of his head to the portable interface housed in the van's interior.

"Vinnie?" Both biker's jaws dropped open, they hadn't expected this at all. They couldn't tell if their bro was alive, although they reasoned he must have been if he was powering the metal-moulded version of himself, but he definitely wasn't conscious. From their position they could see the numerous lines of stitches on his chest and abdomen, and the remaining tubes still attached to the canula's on each of his hands.

Modo's eye flashed red. No wonder Limburger had taken so long to act, he was far too busy messing around with torturing his bro whilst building this disgusting replica of him. "You low-down SCUM!" He bellowed, desperately wanting to blast the stinking fish and his demented doctor into the next life. But as neither of them were there, and with that robot standing in the way of Greasepit, he was at a total loss as to what to do with the boiling rage inside him.

"Easy big fella... we got to think this one through, we don't want to do anything that's going to hurt our bro."

"Easier said than done, that robot knows everything we do, and we don't know what will happen if we just snatch Vinnie... if we can even get to him."

The grey mouse's assessment of the situation was quite astute. Without his own bionic arm he was less able to mount any kind of attack.. or defence... and the robot had two laser-cannon containing arms at its disposal.

"Yoo-hoo... bros... wanna come out and play?"

The sound of their friend's voice coming out of that machine was quite sickening. It didn't just sound like him... it _was_ him... kind of.

Before they could even think of a plan B the robot's antennae flashed again, and the machine itself began approaching them with menacing intent. It knew exactly how to carry out its orders. It knew what it had to do to get hold of those two mice, and once it had it was going to destroy them.

But the tiny voice inside was anything if not persistent. _Don't do it_. It was trying hard to be heard above the other voices, screaming at the top of its lungs. _Don't hurt them... please don't hurt them..!_

_Do it!_ said the other voices in unison. They were far louder, far more persuasive in their tone. Limburger's silky drawl was amongst them, firmly commanding that he was to kill them both. _Do it __**now.**_

The robotic mouse fired two grapping lines from compartments in his shoulders, and the two hooks found their marks and yanked the fleeing mice from their bikes and into his grasp. His bionic hands were stronger than any mouse's, and though they struggled they were held fast in his mechanical grip.

"Oh man, I never thought it would come to this... wasted by our own bro!" Throttle was dangling from his jacket, and for a moment thought he might be able to wriggle free of the clothing. The android sensed the intention, and swiftly changed his hold on the mouse. Now he had him firmly by his scruff, and the tan-furred body went limp. _Holy crap he couldn't possibly have remembered that... could he?_

A second later the grey mouse was also dangling by the loose skin on his neck. The innate reaction to being held in this manner was alarmingly powerful.

"Vinnie... please don't do this... we're your friends.. your bros... you can't do this to us..."

The robot was carrying them upwards, scaling the fire-escape to the substation, using the metal staircase to reach its roof. Once there he made his way over to the edge... and the two mice knew in that moment just what he intended to do with them. They had been here before, only this time Charley wasn't waiting below with a truck-load of mattresses to break their fall.

_Noo... no don't... bros... my bros... you can't... I can't..._

That tiny voice was frantic now. It yelled inside the cybernetic mind of the android, demanding it be heard, begging to not be ignored. And for a moment the robotic mouse seemed to hesitate...

"VINNIE!"

That voice was different. It wasn't inside him... it was below him.

The mechanical being peered over the ledge of the roof and saw someone looking up at him. A woman... a woman he recognised... Someone he once knew.

"Ch..Charley?"

"Don't do it Vinnie, they're your friends, you couldn't hurt your fr...aargh!"

Apparently Greasepit had done fiddling with the contraption and wanted some action for himself. He fired twice at the unsuspecting mechanic, and she was thrown to the ground in surprise. "That'll teach you to stick yer nose where its none of yer business..." The goon guffawed, he had taken out the meddling woman and now the other two mice were soon to follow. His boss was going to be very pleased... especially as he had also managed to (eventually) install the magneto-attractor into the city's power grid. "Say bye bye to those mouseys..."

The moment of weakness had passed for the mechanical monster on the roof top. The voice telling him to hurt the two beings at his disposal was too powerful for him to ignore. Lifting his arms above his head, he stepped up to the ledge... and then loosened his grip on the two mice.

"NOOOOO!" The despairing scream drew out of the injured woman's mouth in one long gasp of horror; the screech tearing at her throat, the pain and anguish of what she was witnessing reverberating from the walls of the building and rippling outwards from her epicentre. She struggled to get up, and stumbling desperately to the foot of the substation's exterior she sobbed uncontrollably at the two fur-covered figures unmoving at her feet. She sank to her knees, and pressed her face into the warm coats of their crumpled bodies.

The grinning goon couldn't resist it. "Oopsy... guess them mouses can't fly after all..."

That was a mistake. Charley had not come after the mice unprepared. She pulled the small bazooka she favoured from her back and fired it straight at the tactless idiot gloating in front of her. The mini torpedoes sent him flying backwards into the side of his van, knocking him out cold.

So filled with grief and anger the woman did not think about the consequences of her following actions. She glared up at the metallic mouse-shaped outline still standing on the rooftop, and aimed her gun upwards. Her aim was excellent, and the bionic rodent fell back with the force of the missile hitting him square on in the chest.

In seconds the mechanic had scaled the fire-escape. "HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT? WHY WHY WHY!"

She fired at it again, this time aiming for its head. She didn't want to damage the thing too much... she made sure the right arm was left in tact...just in case.

Her assault finally put an end to the robot's short life. Its antennae stopped glowing and the red, bionic eyes dimmed in their sockets.

Behind those eyes though something else was dimming. The tiny voice was almost silent now, just a soft whimpering in the haze, slowly fading into the murky background. Its vision blurred, and the sounds of the woman's ranting became more muffled. The life force behind the machine's electronic brain was sinking back down into the darkness, deeper and deeper, beyond the levels of the subconscious... It fell further and further until it could fall no more.

Charley looked down at the deactivated machine with a mixture of confusion and disgust. It looked like Vinnie.. but she knew that mouse would never ever harm his friends. _Where is he anyway? _

She carefully detached the right arm from the robot, and descended the stairway. She was so numb she almost didn't know what she was doing. She blindly dropped the metal limb by the lifeless furry heap... she couldn't bear to look at them... and in a virtually hypnotic state she went to the back of the building.

There was Greasepit, coming slowly around and scrambling drunkenly to his feet. He saw the look on her face and decided it was time to leave. She shot her laser pistol at him, just missing, and he clambered hurriedly into the cab of the van. He meant to drive away as fast as he could, but the woman took out the tires of the vehicle before he could even turn over the engine. "Feet don't fails me now!" he cried, and with that one last declaration the mindless thug fled the scene, leaving the van and its contents behind.

The dawning realisation of just what had been going on hit her like a nuclear bomb. She saw the white mouse in the chair in the back of the van, and noted the electrodes and the computer to which he was attached. _So this is what Limburger was doing all this time... _

She ran over to the mouse and began pulling him free of all the wires, tubes and bindings, and shook him in an attempt to rouse him. He didn't respond. She tried again and he slumped forward into her arms. Then she spied something stuck onto his furry back. It was a note.

_If you are reading this it is quite possible you have just succeeding in taking out my newest toy. If this is the case, congratulations. Unless the mouse to which this note is attached is reading this with you, then you have probably just also destroyed the few remaining brain cells he had left. _

The mushroom cloud was expanding. She sank to her knees, her head in her hands that still gripped the hand-written message. _Oh no... What have I done..?_

* * *

_One month later..._

"Hey Vinnie, it's me again... just coming to see how you're doing... you know, catch you up on the news. I know you would want to know everything that's been happening."

The tan mouse eased himself onto the stool next to the bed, and pulled that day's newspaper from his pocket. He began reading the headlines, cringing slightly as he read the top story. 'Train crash victims reaches 58 dead'. He moved on, still unable to face the awful guilt that they hadn't even been able to put a stop to Limburger's evil plan.

It turned out that wave device was capable of magnetising just about any metal... and it had been put to use to pull two commuter trains into a headlong collision. The result had been catastrophic. Hundreds had been injured, and some bodies still hadn't been found in the debris. And there were no prizes for guessing who offered to subsequently clean up all that metal waste...

Charley had tried telling them it wasn't their fault, that they were still out cold when it happened. They should be thankful for that she said. Things could have been much worse.

Apparently the relaxing effects of the scruff hold had been their saviour. Whilst the force of the fall had knocked them both unconscious, their limp bodies had simply absorbed the impact without actually causing too much damage. They didn't wake up for two days, but when they did their only injuries included a few rather large bruises, and a small number of hairline fractures - primarily in their legs.

However, the damage to their smallest bro was a different matter entirely.

Throttle continued reading out the various stories to the unconscious mouse beside him. It had been explained to him that Vinnie was in something called a coma, and that no one would be able to know when he would wake up... if at all. He was still hooked up to the life support machine Charley had procured a few months earlier, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor, and gentle swishing of the ventilator, was the only reassurance the mice had that he might pull through at all.

_Charley couldn't have known what blowing up that robot would do to him... she has to stop blaming herself. He knew the risks when he offered to go through with his stupid plan._

This was one of those rare moments when the medically-trained mechanic had actually left his bedside. She still had a business to run, and whilst the two older mice had helped out the best they could, there were still some things that only she could do. She had had her spare room converted to accommodate the life-preserving equipment, insisting that she be the primary carer for their deeply-sleeping friend. It was easier for her to do that if he were in her garage rather than the scoreboard. And it gave the two other bros the space to vent their frustrations without running the risk of any of the expensive machinery getting damaged... let alone the patient they were hooked up to.

"Hey bro... can I come in?" The grey furred form that had appeared in the doorway hovered uncertainly. He knew that Throttle liked to be alone in here with him sometimes.

"Sure... i'm done with this anyway." The tan mouse tossed the paper aside. There was nothing in there he really wanted to read, everything was either bad news or pointless drivel. He only did it because he thought it might help somehow. Charley had said speaking to him might stimulate his brain... that he might still be able to hear their voices.

Out of desperation Throttle had one day even pressed his antenna to the fleshy appendages on the white mouse's own head, searching for clues, searching for life... but he had seen nothing. There were no images at all in the unconscious mind he had tapped into, no impressions of memories or dreams, no flicker of his energy or his soul. Either the mouse's essence had left him completely that day, or it was buried so far down it was beyond any means of him reaching it.

Modo slid carefully past his bro and lowered himself slowly onto the bed. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the wetness on his friend's cheeks, but he didn't let on he had noticed. Neither of them were taking this well, and both had valiantly tried to hide it from the other. They had to at least appear to be strong... it was the only way they could deal with it. But that strength was wavering.

"Hey Vinnie, it's me bud, how you doing?" He took the small white hand into his own large paw, and gave it a squeeze. Every time he did this he hoped it might return the pressure, that the white mouse would someday respond to his touch. He sighed... _Not today huh... maybe tomorrow...? _

"This new arm you got me Vin, its working just fine. You did real well back there bro... we're just waiting for you now, waiting for you to come back to us so we can celebrate like always. Charley's got the fridge stocked with root beer, and we found this sweet new place that does real nice hot dogs. You'd like that wouldn't you Vin..? A party just for you, to thank you for everything you done... for getting me this... this shiny new... _this arm_..."

He couldn't say any more. Like the tan mouse he found himself choking on the words, the remorse forcing its way from his heart and out of his mouth... Guilt, sadness, pain... _Poor Vinnie... why did this have to happen to him..? He's only young... T__he foolish mouse is only young... too young for this..._

Throttle was stood by the door, watching his older friend struggle with his emotions. They had already had the discussion about the white mouse's future. All agreed he wouldn't want to spend the rest of his life like this. But it was too soon to make that decision just yet... Martian bodies were resilient, and though they had never seen anything like this before they still believed... still hoped the damage to his brain would heal itself and that he would one day, maybe.. just maybe... come out of it.

But how long this might take they did not know, and the strain this was having on the three of them was starting to show. He lost count of the times he walked into that tiny room to find Charley weeping rawly by the bedside, or else curled up in exhaustion, asleep at Vinnie's feet. And there had been far too many times when he had discovered the gentle grey mouse on the verge of breaking down.

Modo looked up at him, the anguish he was feeling for once undisguised. He felt so terrible at how things had turned out for their comrade... their friend. Their companion through every dreadful thing that had ever happened to them. He didn't want this to be the last adventure they ever had. He wanted him back... He _needed_ him back.

_Oh god Vinnie please come back to us... please i'm so, so sorry..._

He grabbed the little hand again, gripping it tightly in both his flesh and metal palms, desperate for any sign the smaller mouse had heard his agonising mental pleas.

_Come back to us bro...please..._

Somewhere in the depths there was the faintest whisper. _Come back_ it said. But there were no others in there now, no one else to drown it out. That tiny voice cried out stridently in the darkness, shouting so that they might finally hear him.

_I'm coming..._

And in that soft grey palm a single, white-furred finger twitched.


	13. Epilogue to Verminator and Cheese cadets

OK so I got a real mixed bag for you here, and it covers just about everything I had in mind for this chapter. Firstly, and most importantly, this story provides a bridge to the previous one, and will allow me to move on with the rest of the series without leaving a big gaping hole in the timeline. Secondly, it fulfils the request asked of me to do this particular episode (hope this is what you were hoping for Sette Lupe), and thirdly gives Charley a little action (sorry the guys don't get that much of a rest this time miceaholic, I know you wanted something a little more benign - later I promise). So with all that you get a full spectrum of emotions to play with; joy, sadness, pity, and hopefully a bit of a laugh too. Enjoy!

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

10. Epilogue to Verminator/Cheese Cadets

Those first signs of life had been so unexpected the poor grey mouse had nearly leapt from the bed in fright. When he had finally pulled himself together, he noticed the white index finger move again, and quickly grabbed the hand to which it belonged and squeezed it tightly. The response was only slight, but it was there. It was definitely there.

Over the coming days these twitches became more and more regular, and better still less and less like a coincidence. Every time either mice or the mechanic even touched the soft, fleshy palm, it responded with its tiny but reassuring movement.

After several weeks there were signs that the unconscious mouse's brain was healing further still. Under the watchful eyes of his carers it soon became apparent he was starting to dream again (REM no longer stood for just a rock band to the two mice), and when further tested there were other indicators of the mouse's returning senses. His pupillary light reflex was stronger now, and the tip of his digits registered some limited sensitivity to pain. Soon they were also able to illicit a grasp response from the long, now also-twitching tail.

Neither of the older mice allowed their hopes to get too high. The progress was slow, and their bro still was not over the worst of it. Throttle regularly pressed his red antennae to the corresponding set of his friend's, still searching for the life behind them. Mostly there was just a vast emptiness with no indicators the mouse was really there, but sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of something, a memory or impression his friend may have had, and other times he could have sworn he heard the faintest of whispering in the darkness. On the rare occasions he caught him dreaming, the images were stronger but still indistinct.

They kept up their near constant vigil on their broken comrade, and continued to talk to him in an effort to further stimulate his recovery. The grey mouse became almost obsessed with observing the prone form for signs of progress, and kept a log of almost every twitch he noticed the white-furred body making. Modo was determined to do everything he could to help bring his young companion round.

But the efforts of the mice were nothing compared to the mechanic-come-medic who oversaw his care. When she was not working in her garage she was upstairs in that tiny spare room, using every textbook she could get her hands on to research coma patient studies, and then applying these bits of information to trying a number of brain-stimulating techniques on her charge. When she wasn't doing this she was tending to his more basic needs. She became probably the best nurse the city ever had, and most likely also the most skilled at turning/lifting/washing immobile yet rather large (not to mention furry) bodied patients.

Then one day, after weeks of tirelessly trying to help the stricken mouse, something suddenly changed. Charley had fallen asleep again at his bedside, her head resting on the smooth-coated abdomen, rising and falling in time with the ventilator's rhythms. Then without warning her head was shaken roughly, and that steady rhythm was broken.

For a moment she panicked; the sudden spasm in his belly may have been the sign of a seizure, or worse. She quickly examined the sleeping rodent, but nothing seemed to be amiss. And then again there was that spasm. _It's not a fit...it's more like... is he... coughing?_

Two white eyelids were gently fluttering, and two white palms were lightly clenching. After nearly 12 weeks in a coma, Vinnie was, at last, finally coming round.

Charley was so taken aback by the abrupt change in his consciousness she dithered for a few minutes, trying to calm herself so she could think clearly. _Oh my.. this is it... he's coming round.. he's really coming round... THINK Charlene... Stop panicking and think!_

She screamed as loud as she could to alert the two other mice working downstairs. By the time they had thrown themselves headlong through the bedroom doorway she was pulling on the tube in their bro's throat, releasing his body's dependence on the life support machine.

"Vinnie? Bro! You're awake!" Two large furry bodies hurled themselves at the bed, each grabbing hold of a flexing palm and grasping it tightly in their own. Joyful tears swam down their soft faces and onto their friends chest, which was now rising on its own.

It was several more days before the recovering Martian mouse was able to speak, but from the moment he opened his ruby red eyes and stared up at the delighted faces of his three friends, he knew he did not need to say a single word. They had stayed with him all this time, and he never felt so honoured to be a part of them, nor had he ever felt so loved. The happiness in their expressions told him everything he needed to know. That he had succeeded, and that he had survived.

* * *

"Is it just me or has fish-face been a little busy lately?" The tan mouse pulled his black and chrome bike over to examine what appeared to be an excessive amount of demolition work going on in this normally quiet section of the city's business district. The strange thing was he couldn't even smell the usual odour of mouldy cheese and unwashed socks that normally signified Limburger's dubious involvement in such matters. And he hadn't seen any oily trails that his stupid sidekick Greasepit would normally leave in his wake.

"I dunno bro... this seems a little excessive even for him. We haven't been uh... away _that long_ have we?" The larger of the two motorcyclists rubbed the back of his neck with his metal palm. He knew they had been spending a lot of time tending to their younger bro's recovery, leaving the place wide open to any attack by their insidious opponent. _But i'm sure after our last 'visit' that rotten cheese-ball was up to his eyes in union issues..._

Fed up of being blasted by the mice and then repeatedly underpaid for their hazardous job, the fat fish's entire goon army had gone on strike, leaving him with no henchmen to carry out his latest diabolical scheme. Even his two main men had deserted him. Greasepit and Karbunkle had joined the picket lines with surprising enthusiasm, and Limburger was left wishing he had taken that long-overdue holiday to Florida after all.

What the mice didn't know was that the Plutarkian was under immense pressure to improve his paltry efforts at strip-mining the city, and whilst they had assumed he had simply given up trying for the time being, he had in fact been recruiting help from elsewhere. His newly-graduated cadets from the Limburger academy of hard-knocks were positively bursting with destructive urges. They had been trained by the most ruthless military-minded alien in the galaxy, and now they were primed and ready for action. And by the looks of it, they were much better at their job than any of the Plutarkian's other, more hapless employees.

The two bikers decided to go and investigate this unexpected flurry of activity, and were disheartened to see one of their old foes apparently directing all the action. _Oh no... not him again_.

Last time they had seen the Pulverizer he had been frantically bidding to win them for his own keeping in an auction... only to lose out to the squat and infinitely froufrou mistress of all things weather. Before that, they had wiped the floor with him as he attempted to steal the US army's latest technological venture, the aircraft known as the Annihilator. The gigantic general was after all a notorious war lord, and had spent quite some time in galactic prison for his somewhat questionable battle tactics.

"Oh well, at least we know how to deal with this one..." Throttle sighed. Coming up against someone else with a power-fist was a challenge he wasn't really in the mood for right now. His own right hand was adorned with his signature weapon, a cestus with punch-enhancing charges built into the glove. All he had to do was press on the 'nuke-knuck' capsules and he was able to put a hole through a concrete wall. The Pulverizer had an entire over-sized fist with the same knock-out capabilities at his disposal.

"Yeah bro, there may be only the two of us today but we're more than a match for anything old lard-butt can throw at us..." _Just so long as it isn't another robotic mouse. _

However, as soon as the new goon army realised they were being observed by the two Martian mice, the intensity of the ensuing fire-fight was not what they expected whatsoever. These new goons were much better than the usual staff the fish employed. Their tactics were swift and hard-hitting, their organisation and delivery lethal and refined. They were trained, and expertly so.

The laser fire raining down on the mice was so intense they simply could not get a shot off of their own. They were soon surrounded by the disguised alien army (they had been recruited from far outside the solar system), and the Pulverizer issued his barking orders for his squadron to implement. Their weapons were military grade, and the soldier's aims were even better. The mice were forced to use every bit of skill they had just to evade the deadly onslaught, and eventually conceded that they were better off ducking out and re-thinking their own plan from somewhere a little safer.

"Bro, flank left – we gotta get out of here before- _yaaargh_!"

Modo was already nearly free of the mini-war zone when he realised his younger bro was not following.

"Throttle? Bro?" He spoke into his helmet's intercom, trying to get hold of the mouse who had only seconds before been right behind him. There was no answer. "Bro can you hear me? You there bud?" Still no answer.

There was nothing for it, he was going to have to go back. He would never, ever leave one of his bros behind in battle. "Com' on Lil' Hoss, we got us a quick turnaround to make..."

He revved his bike's engines and took off at full pelt back into the thick of where the weapons fire had been. The shooting appeared to have stopped, and he soon realised why.

The tan mouse was down. The goons were converging on him, their sniper having hit his mark with expert accuracy, and Throttle didn't seem to be making any moves to escape them.

"NO BODY HURTS MY BRO!" The red eye glowed like an angry beacon from the grey-furred head, and its owner ploughed through the vulturous villain horde scattering them as if they were nothing more than a 10-pin line-up. The firing resumed its ferocity, but somehow he was able to haul the felled mouse into his arms and yank the prone bike behind him with his tail. He fled the scene before they could stop him, and raced as fast as he could to the safety of the garage.

_Charley's going to be p*****, she told us this was a bad idea..._

And now they were two mice down... and the city was sure to follow.

* * *

Overseeing the training of the gormless bunch of low-lives that feckless felon had recruited had been a pointless waste of his time. He had sent the lot of them packing, and brought in his own selection of rough-edged commandos to shape to his liking. Sure he would train them according to the specifications in the cadet school syllabus... but that didn't mean he couldn't add a few little extras into the programme.

After only a few weeks his men were ready for action. He had picked the best of the best, as only that would do for someone like him. The Pulverizer had no time for politics or hand-holding when there were battles to fight and wars to be won. He needed the toughest, the most ruthless recruits there were, and that pompous Plutarkian idiot in his purple limousine wasn't in any position to dictate to him. _He's going to find out the hard way what it means to be a soldier in my army... just you wait Limburger_.

After their rather elaborate graduation ceremony the new platoon was meant to be working under the fumbling flounder's orders, obtaining the various building materials his planet needed whilst seeing off the threat of rodent interference. There was only one slight clause in the contract that the fish had failed to notice.

Limburger only really realised he had lost control of his enterprise when he was forcibly shoved down the escape shoot of his tower. The strikers below had a field day when they saw their ex-employer crumpled at their feet.

"Don't just stand there – do something!"

But none of them were willing to budge for anything less than minimum wage and a fully comprehensive dental plan. He really was out on his gills now.

As much as he admired the sheer audacity of the super-villain's mutinous plan, and the subsequent and extreme amount of destruction he had managed to pull off, Limburger had not been impressed it had been at _his_ expense. Somewhere up in his tower that ham-fisted charlatan was not only finding favour with the head of Plutark, the insufferably implacable Lord Camembert, but he had access to almost all his finances as well. He truly had claimed himself to be the king of the castle. _Just a pity it had to be my castle... why couldn't he have had his little rebellion over in Detroit._

But what the glorified general had failed to appreciate was that Limburger always had a backup plan. Before his own ungrateful employees had turned on him he had been in the process of setting up a rather neat little way of getting all the construction supplies he wanted. He was going to take them in completed form (to be broken down into their constituent ingredients at a later date), and with his new matter constrictor in working order he could now shove half of Chicago's high-rises into a single shoe box.

No one would know it was him who had taken the mysteriously vanishing buildings, and once they were safely deposited at their final destination there was a very simple way to return them to their normal size. It was a truly brilliant plan. And that malodorous metal hunk of militia had no idea about any of it.

_Let's hope it stays that way... I intend to give him a little taste of what happens when you mess with Lawrence Limburger. _

The only problem was how? He had hoped those heroic hairballs would provide enough of a distraction for the turncoat thugs and their commander. But from what he had just witnessed, being one man short had put them at a serious disadvantage, and even they had failed to put a stop to the war-lord's ruinous regime.

_Curse those rueful rodents... i'm going to have to find another way to do this._

He did have one other option. He wasn't considered the most under-handed businessman this side of Saturn for nothing after all.

* * *

"Jeez guys, can't you lay off fighting against the odds just for one day... it's bad enough taking care of one invalid without you bringing in another for me to treat." Charley hadn't been impressed the two of them had gone off in search of trouble in the first place, but she was powerless to keep them in when half the city was being felled right under their noses.

"Hey no fair sweetheart, you love taking care of me... that's what you said yesterday anyway..." The white-furred mouse was finally out of bed, which would have been a good thing if he wasn't making such a nuisance of himself.

"Yeah, I did, but that was before you knocked over my tool box and spilled transmission fluid all over my nice clean floor..."

"Thought you would of been happy I was trying to give you a hand..." He mumbled, catching the glare she was giving him. One thing he hadn't forgotten during his long sleep was when just to shut up.

"Hey bud, you ok there?" Modo lifted Throttle onto the couch so that their female friend could take a look at him.

"Ungh... remind me again why we went out today..." The wounded warrior closed his eyes, grimacing as the woman at his side pressed the burnt skin around the lacerations in his side.

Charley knew how he felt. She had had her first taste of the wrong end of laser-weapon three months ago. She had been lucky... Greasepit apparently hadn't known how to change the stun setting on his pistol. Unfortunately for the tan-mouse on her sofa, the Pulverizer's men knew exactly how to use the high-tech firearms at their disposal.

The sniper had hit him on his left side, tearing a hole through the mouse's leather jacket, and renting an even deeper trench through his fur-covered skin. The wound was deep and jagged, and though the surface of it had been cauterised by the laser's energy, the tissues below were raw and weeping. The external oblique muscles of his well-toned abdomen had also been scored open, and the mechanic felt sure if he didn't keep still the intestines below were bound to herniate through the tear. It was a miracle the shot had not damaged the organs themselves.

She looked at the grey mouse who was still holding onto his wounded bro. His fur and trousers were stained a dark crimson, and the skin beneath his fur was pale at the sight of all the blood. _I'd have thought he would be used to this kind of thing by now..._

In truth Modo had seen plenty of serious wounds in his time, and had had plenty himself. But seeing a big hole in the side of one of his friends, complete with an unimpeded view of his guts, was pushing the limits of his stomach's endurance.

"Can you fix him Charley-ma'am?" The mouse knew it was a stupid question. Their friend had become a marvellous medic in the time they had known her, but he knew that one day there would be something even she couldn't put back together.

"I can't promise anything but I should think with all the practice I have had lately, stitching this up should be a piece of cake..."

The woman cleared the table in her lounge and had the larger mouse lift his friend onto it. She was confident enough that she could sew the torn muscle and skin back together, that was no issue, but as she gazed down on the ashen-faced Martian, who was groaning weakly at the pain in his abdomen, she knew that her skill and speed was not going to make it any less pleasant for him. She had run out of local anaesthetic, and there wasn't any time to get more. By the colour of his gums and the coldness in his extremities, it was obvious he was already starting to go into shock. _He's lost too much blood, I can't wait._

She gave Modo a nod, and strode into the garage to fetch her medi-kit. He followed her.

"Uh... _is_ everything going to be ok...?" He dropped his voice so that his two bros couldn't overhear.

"I've got nothing to numb the pain, and unless he passes out this is going to be really rough. I'm going to need your help with this... you think you can handle it big guy? I need to know that you can, that you trust me, ok?"

The mouse nodded. He knew what she meant.

"Count on it Charley-ma'am, just tell me what you need me to do..."

They returned to her lounge with the kit, and the white-furred mouse who was now at his bro's side looked at the bag in Charley's hands inquiringly.

She shot him a stern look. "Either you keep out the way until I say otherwise, or I have Modo carry you upstairs and lock you in your room. Your choice Vincent."

The use of his proper name told him she meant business.

"Uh... no problem Charley-girl... where..?"

She pointed to the blood-stained settee, which he promptly threw himself onto. He didn't want to annoy her, not when she had to do her doctor thing... and definitely not when he knew she would be giving him a _thorough_ check-up later that night. _I don't know why she can't just stick the thermometer in my mouth like everyone else... so not fair._

* * *

Conning that conniving crone had been nothing less than a masterpiece in manipulation. All he had to do was convince him that he would get nothing now he, his employer, was also on the bread line, and if given assistance in taking back his empire from the arrogant army general, he personally would make sure the doctor not only had all the top-rate of earnings for his pay grade, but all the accompanying perks as well.

From Limburger's perspective, his patience was payment enough for the evil genius's repeated failures. _If he actually pulls this off I might let him come on holiday with me.._. _He looks like he could do with some sun. _Practically living in an underground laboratory had done nothing for the Karbunkle's pallid complexion.

"Now then, dear doctor, are you sure you have this matter constrictor configured right? I can't have snotty parents ringing up CNN to report their kid's have been shrunk and they want whoever's responsible lynched and hauled in front of the cameras."

The fish had had his science-minded subordinate configure the telecom-routed device to dial up any number they wished, and when the line was connected at the other end whoever, or whatever, had picked up the call would be constricted, and the resulting miniature model would be transported directly to them.

The base they were working in was once the old switch board for the city's telephone exchange. The putrid-smelling Plutarkian had purloined the abandoned building to allow him to connect the doctor's latest invention to the telecommunications network, and thus access every single phone line in the area. All he had to do was dial the right number.

"Everything's ready your cream cheesiness..." Secretly Karbunkle was praying his bad-breathed boss didn't make the mistake of dialling his own cell phone. He didn't fancy spending the rest of his life trapped in an airless space with someone who smelt worse than a dead skunk.

Lifting the receiver, and grinning indulgently at his impending coup, Limburger thumbed the list of numbers he had in front of him. Like many others of his kind, he simply loved a little bit of ruthless revenge. No one, but no one, took over _his_ tower without a fight.

* * *

Vinnie had watched the preparations from the comfort of the couch with a mixture of awe and trepidation. He couldn't believe just how... focused... the woman could be when it came to things like this... or how detached. _Oh man i'm really glad i'm not the one on that table... Poor guy... _

His sympathies for the tan-mouse were not unfounded. Charley had pulled her trusty roll of industrial strength duct tape from her bag of medical supplies, and with Modo's help soon had their injured friend tied firmly to the table... but not before she had the grey mouse pull him free of his remaining clothing. Throttle had protested, but she pointed out that she needed clear access to the wound, and wasn't afraid to cut through his pants if that's what it took.

He was going to have to lie on his side for her to reach all of the laceration easily, and as this was a delicate operation she didn't want him struggling just as she was sewing in the vicinity of his major blood vessels. Whilst Modo held him in place, Charley had got liberal with the tape and soon had his arms strapped down above his head, and his legs bound and then also stuck down to the table.

"Phew... just one last thing and we're ready to go..." This was the bit she wasn't looking forward to.

Charley grabbed hold of the short wooden baton she had dug out from her workshop (a cutting from an old broom handle), and nodded to the grey mouse at Throttle's head. He pulled his friend's chin upwards as far as he could, which had the effect of loosening the lower jaw just enough for him to pull it downwards, opening it for the woman to push the thick dowel in. Modo then held the terrified mouse's mouth shut as it was wound firmly closed with tape.

"I'm so sorry..." She whispered into his velvety-furred ear as she cut the tape roll away from his snout. "I promise I will do this as quick as I possibly can..."

Signalling to the grim-faced Martian at the head of the table to hold his quivering companion still, Charley took a deep breath and reached for her suture kit.

After a few minutes she had to stop. The mouse's stifled whimpering cries were awful, and he was thrashing violently about on the table, straining in agony against the tape.

"Vinnie..?"

"Uh... I didn't move a muscle Charley-girl..."

"It's ok, I need you now." She gestured to the writhing tan-furred legs in front of her. "I need you to hold him down... can you do that for me?"

He looked hesitant. Even with the wooden gag for him to bite down on, his bro's screams had penetrated through enough to make his own stomach lurch.

"Can you do this Vinnie... _for him_?"

He nodded.

And with the pitiful mouse now pinned by his two best friends, the woman who spent so much of her time caring for these three brave warriors swallowed hard, and reaching inside the torn pelt once more she stitched the muscle and epidermal layers back together again. By the time she had done the heart-rendering cries had fallen silent. Even Throttle had a limit to his endurance, and anaesthetic-free surgery was far more than the valiant leader's body could cope with right now.

* * *

Limburger examined his collection of matter-constricted trophies with gloating triumph, before locking the little metal box and shoving it in his desk drawer. He intended on allowing them to stew for a while before considering sending them back to whatever rock they crawled out from under. _That'll teach them to try and over throw me from my empire..._

He sat back in his office chair and pulled his giant bowl of wriggling slime-worms from the desk. It had been really quite a good day in the end. Even Lord Camembert couldn't complain about him re-taking his position from the dangerous military despot, not after he had shipped off half of the business district to his planet with minutes of regaining control.

_The look on his face was priceless... I wish i'd had my camera... _

However there was something else, something infinitely more amusing that he would give almost anything to have captured on film. He had left Karbunkle at the old telecom building... and there was one more number on his list.

* * *

All the attention she had been giving those mice had really set her back. The pile of work mounting on her desk was starting to give her the jitters. She didn't like to make clients angry, she depended on them to make her living.

At least two of the mice were out from under her feet now. She had had Modo strong arm his youngest bro back upstairs to his bed, and threatened him with a tetanus booster if he even dared think he could come down stairs again. The tan mouse had been somewhat easier to deal with, since he was still out cold from his brutal bout of amateur surgery. He was sleeping soundly on her couch now, the closed wounds cleaned and dressed to prevent infection.

_Poor Throttle... if only I had had time to restock on anaesthetic... but there's just so much to do around here. I'm never going to get through all this if they keep putting themselves in harm's way._

Still, at least there was one uninjured mouse, and he was in her garage busy taking care of some of her tasks for her... but that left her dealing with the boring stuff. Paper work.

For hours she sat there wading through the stacks of bills and invoices, jumping out of her skin every time a customer called to enquire if their vehicle was ready for collection. After the fifth irate ear-bashing she had received from one disgruntled caller, she had been tempted to simply unplug the phone and toss the handset into the trash.

Now it was very late and she was ready to call it a night. Modo had relocated to the kitchen, and was supposedly preparing something for their dinner (although by the strange smell she wasn't sure it was going to actually be anything edible...) and now she stood up to join him, stretching her aching muscles as she rose.

Before she could leave her desk though, the phone rang. The trill was strange... one long ring out rather than its usual clipped tones. She was too tired to care. She wanted some fresh air before eating so she grabbed the portable from the back wall and went outside.

"Hello...?" There was no one on the line, just a low buzzing of interference.

And then it happened. She felt a strange pulling around her navel, followed by an enormous pressure over her entire surface. For a moment everything went black... and then she could see again. Now everything was the dusky shade of amber, but worse than that everything was...huge...

_What the-? _

She stood motionless for a while, the portable receiver still in her hand. It took her a few minutes to realise what had happened. _Either the world's gotten much bigger or I have gotten much, much smaller. _She reasoned it was more likely the latter, considering the circumstances. Not only was she now considerably shorter than a cockroach... but she was also trapped in a marble-sized sphere of orange glass.

_Oh... crap. If I don't get out of here soon... _She didn't fancy the slow death by suffocation that she was sure was in store for her.

In the manner of a miniscule hamster, the entombed entrepreneur rolled her tiny prison towards the door of her garage. It was exhausting work, especially when she had to take a run up at the lip of the door step. After several tries her efforts paid off, and the little amber-coloured ball shot off down her hallway, rolling towards the lounge door.

She was not considered a genius for nothing. She knew that rolling underneath the feet of a seven foot tall Martian mouse as he balanced hot dishes and pans, and other kitchen appliances in his bid to be Mars' next master-chef, was not the best of ideas. No... she had the brains to roll herself into her garage, and find herself the near-inevitable spillage of some sort of oil-based fluid in which to paddle.

Her legs were ready to buckle by the time she had finished, but she felt sure there was no way the mouse could miss her now.

She had managed to paint a message in oil. It said a single word, 'HELP', though she would have added 'ME' if she hadn't felt like she had already run a marathon.

A few minutes later and the chaotic cook came looking for his hungry human companion. She wasn't at her desk, so he figured she must be in the garage. _Probably checking I cleaned up after myself... _

He was certain he had done a good job of clearing away the tools, and he had given the floor a quick mop... but when he entered the workshop he was dismayed at the obvious pool of oil on the concrete floor. He was about to grab the mop to get rid of the evidence when he noticed the spill was not just a puddle.

_Help? Who..?_

He bent down to examine the writing, and his eyes drifted to the strange orange-coloured marble resting at the bottom of the P.

"Oh moma... Charley-ma'am is that you in there?" Modo picked up the marble and gazed in a mixture of wonder and confusion at the mini-sized mechanic. She has hammering on the glass, apparently screaming for him to let her out. He couldn't hear her, and he had no idea how this had happened or how to fix it.

"Hang on there Charley... i'll figure something out..." He looked desperately around the garage, considering which power tool would be the safest to cut her free. None of the options looked particularly friendly.

He realised his hand had smudged the oil over the glass ball, and he could no longer see inside it. Not liking that he couldn't tell where she was standing should he want to attempt to mechanically extract her, he ran to the kitchen to clean it off.

The sink was still full of detergent-lathered dishwater. _Aha, this will do... hang on Charley I just need to give you a nice little bath..._

The moment the marble touched the water there was a loud bang. Thinking that someone was firing at him in the garage kitchen the mouse ducked, and the erupting froth of soap suds and greasy water rained down over his head, soaking him to the skin.

When he looked up again he nearly died of shock. There in front of him, with her lady-like posterior wedged firmly in the sink, her legs dangling over the edge of the draining board, was a very wet, very unimpressed-looking Charley.

"Uh... hey... um..." He was too stunned to say much more.

"I swear to god Modo... if I've told you once I've told you a million times..."

"I'm sorry Charley-ma'am, i'll clean this up I promise, and the oil, and..and..."

The woman giggled. "Thanks for saving my life you big lug. Don't worry about the oil, let's go get dried off and order in some take-out."

By the state of her ruined kitchen Charley was sure they wouldn't be cooking anything for themselves for quite a long while.


	14. Big Trouble

As requested, this one's for you miceaholic... *grins* hope you like it! (if you noticed a recurring theme here it's mainly because I kept lots and lots of one particular rodent when I was younger).

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

11. Big Trouble.

"Is it just me, or is he really dumb enough to think she's **ever** going to fall in love with someone like him?"

"Can't blame the guy for trying... Just wish he had done it the _normal_ way... not like some sort of bizarre fairy tale."

The mouse's assessment of their latest predicament was not far off the mark. Having completely messed up the latest orders from his bloated boss, failing spectacularly at pulling off a heist of raw sulphur, the fumbling flunky Greasepit had _accidentally_ managed to make himself the size of a 3-story building. Well, no, that wasn't quite the whole tale. He had first only made his left fist the size of a SUV, but was gullible enough to think stepping entirely into the path of Karbunkle's latest ray gun would actually fix him.

Limburger was hoping his newly enlarged henchman would take the opportunity to stomp around the city, destroying a few city blocks whilst flattening the furry hides of those do-gooding rodents. He hadn't considered the oil-covered oaf would take some time off to go and play 'house' with his latest infuriating infatuation...

Falling head over heels for Charley had been the last thing the Plutarkian, or the three mice, expected the half-wit henchman to do.

"How come she gets to live in that neat little house and we're stuck in here anyways?" The white-furred Martian mouse pressed his face to the bars of their cage and stared longingly towards the mansion-like structure opposite.

"It could have something to do with the fact she is human... and we're not..." Throttle glanced around their impromptu accommodation with a distinct air of bemusement. This had actually been quite clever of their captor really, a sign that perhaps there was something between the thick thug's ears after all.

"Yeah well... I can't say I like this arrangement much. I miss my own bunk, and I really, really miss having a bathroom." For the grey mouse, this strange situation was far too much of a reminder of somewhere else he had been forced to live once. "And i'd kill for a root beer right now too."

Whilst the amorous intentions of Greasepit had made him want to treat his love-interest like a queen, he hadn't felt the need to extend the courtesy to the angry trio who had stalked him the entire way to his house. He had gotten fed up of them shooting at his ankles (which to him felt a bit like being bombarded by vicious nettle stings) and as soon as he had arrived home he had torn off the roof of the modest-looking semi and pulled out an old hamster cage from the attic below. After zapping it with the ray gun, the cage was now more than big enough to house the three rodent rascals, who were still pestering him to let go of their human friend.

From the elevated position in Greasepit's free hand, Charley groaned as she saw the three furry bodies being grabbed by their tails and deposited in the dusty pen. She had been hoping they would have saved her from the lusting lug-head before he tried to woo her with anymore ridiculous poetry. _Oh guys.. this is getting old now, any time today would be nice..._

Half an hour later the swooning simpleton had extracted another of his childhood toys from the roofless house, and having placed it carefully on the trampled flowerbeds outside, he turned the particle enlarger on that too.

"Here you go miss Charley-ma'am, a nice big house just for youse..." The gushing goon placed had his precious cargo inside the gigantic child's dollhouse, and sank to the floor to watch his beloved settle into her new home. "If only I was smaller... we could lives happily ever after..." He giggled, imagining the two of them together forever, with no more bad-smelling Plutarkians to come between them and spoil their fun. _Pity those mouseys had to come too... but at least now I gots myself these three new furry pets, and i'm sure my lovely lady would wants me to keeps them. _His mouth turned into a thoughtful frown. He still didn't know how he had lost the last nine hamsters he had tried to keep in that wire-topped cage.

The dazed damsel took in her own new surroundings with bewildered amusement. She never knew Limburger's stupid super-villain even had a home beyond the tower's walls... let alone such a normal-looking dwelling on the city limits. Or that the child-like cretin had once had such an obvious liking for traditionally _girl's_ toys.

This doll house was actually in very good condition considering the clumsy nature of its owner, indicating it had been either ignored or a well-loved and cared for play-thing. She suspected the latter. He was giving her a verbal tour of the wooden building with the detail and skill of the best realtor money could buy_. I hope he doesn't actually expect me to stay here... does he think the kitchen and bathroom appliances are really going to work just because he made them bigger?_

"Urm, not that I don't think this place is lovely and everything... but I really want to go home now if that's ok?" Charley spoke at the top of her voice to try and be heard over the ramblings of her romancer. He had just finished describing the master bedroom, and had been quite explicit of what he wished would happen in that room. _Eeww... gross... though I do think it's kinda sweet he's going to fill every single vase in here with my favourite flowers._

Her plea went completely unnoticed, and Greasepit moved on to musing about whether or not the lounge needed redecorating. The woman rolled her eyes, and decided to find her own way out of the multi-story building.

She had nearly made it out the front door when her oleaginous observer spotted her. He quickly slammed the swinging front panel to the house shut, locking her inside. "Oh noes you don't miss lovely ma'am. You stays right there now, I gots to go get something nice for our romantic little candle-lit dinner..."

Charley groaned. This wasn't how she planned on spending her first weekend off in ages. Might as well get comfy... she thought, flopping herself down onto the king-sized four poster that had been detailed to her earlier. _His parents have a lot to answer for... who the hell gives a henchman in the making the most expensive toy mansion ever made to play with?_

Meanwhile, three jealous Martians were themselves considering taking an afternoon nap. Somehow in the process of enlarging the small-animal enclosure, the ray gun had also strengthened the material it was made up of. Modo had had no luck in blasting them out with his arm cannon, and even the combined force of all their laser weaponry had not made the slightest dint in the rusting metal. The bars of the cage were also mostly vertical in alignment, which made it near impossible for them to find enough leverage to push the hinge-door above them open either.

After their fruitless exertions in trying to escape, they had looked at the lump of fibre-bedding that had been shoved in the corner of the cage with a strange longing. The urge to get off the scratchy sawdust litter and snuggle down into something a little softer was almost overwhelming.

"Umm... you know seeing as we can't do anything else... why don't we... you know..." Vinnie gave his two bros a 'no one's looking... why not?' kind of look whilst gesturing discretely to the material the goon had provided. Despite their outward objection to lowering themselves to such a thing, they too found the temptation irresistible. Before long, three velvet-coated bodies were curled up in the wool-like nest together, their tails wound around each other's legs whilst their soft snouts nuzzled into warm fur of their companions.

From the top floor window Charley could see the weird yet infinitely adorable pile of fluff in the cage corner. Muscle-clad warriors they may be on the surface, but curling up together like their smaller Earth-counterparts suggested something else entirely. _Oh guys you are so damn cute when you're not acting all macho. Darn it, i'm missing out on some good blackmail material right now._

She lay herself back down on the model furniture. This wasn't so bad, she thought, and it was only a matter of time before Greasepit shrunk back to his normal size again. The only thing that really worried her was what would happen if their respective dwellings did the same whilst they were still inside them.

* * *

The next morning the mechanic woke to find a huge pair of eyes staring right at her. After the initial shock ("YIKES don't do that!" _Urgh... it wasn't a dream then..._) she realised her love-struck warden had managed to somehow prepare her a full plate of cooked breakfast (she suspected that the misguided monster's mother still lived in the 3-bed suburban semi) and a steaming jug of black coffee.

She had no intention of starving herself whilst in his 'care' and so tucked in, whilst keeping half an eye out for any signs the gargantuan was reverting to his normal size.

By contrast, the three jailed 'gerbils' were not impressed by their meagre offerings.

"What the heck is this stuff?" Modo prodded the rock-hard green and pink lumps in the ceramic bowl before him. The dish also contained a variety of seeds and dried fruits (the latter at least looked edible), and was quite clearly the result of the ray gun being fired at a shop-bought mix of rodent chow.

"Uh... this looks a lot like..." Throttle picked up a sliced of dried banana the size of a hub-cap and sniffed it suspiciously. "Yup. Hamster food. Yay for us... let's hope he doesn't expect us to... VINCENT!"

The tan mouse had not relished the idea of once again being regarded as nothing more than someone's captive animal, although this time round it had at least been a lot more comfortable, but when he spied his youngest friend clambering onto the large wheel affixed to the side of the cage...

"WHAT THE HECK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" He yelled much louder than he really meant to, but it was an indignity enough being forced to use one corner of their housing as a bathroom in full view of anyone who might care to investigate (and why no one had yet was a mystery...), without his bro taking his new role of petrol-head's pet mouse seriously as well.

"What? This is great fun, I always wondered what it would be like to have one of these..." The white mouse carried on running on the exercise wheel with no thought as to the significance of their latest situation to his two bros. "Uh, when we get home can we get one... for the scoreboard?" His innocently cheeky grin revealed far more about the Martian's secret desires than either Throttle or Modo cared to explore.

The gentle grey mouse gave his tan-furred comrade a knowing look. "He's forgotten hasn't he?"

"Uh huh... add it to the list bro, we can remind him about that one at a later date." Throttle's stomach clenched with anxiety. He had hoped he would never,_ ever_ have to speak about that particular set of memories buried deep inside his mind, and he knew that Modo shared his sentiments. They hadn't spoken about their long interment in the despairing depths on the edge of the city to anyone. Not even to each other.

The two bikers resigned themselves to their unappetising fare, and each took a piece of the engorged dry fruit to nibble. The lack of moisture in their meal made them incredible thirsty, and to their dismay they realised there was, unfortunately, only one source of water available for them to access.

"Oh man... you mean we gotta use _that_ thing too." Throttle looked at the stainless steel spout with its ball-bearing controlled drip-feed. "I hope you brushed your teeth before we left the garage bro..."

"Speak for yourself Throttle, my mouth is as clean as a whistle. Can't say the same for him though." Modo pointed his thumb at the mouse on the wheel, who apparently had tired of running bipedally and was experimenting with doing it 'hamster style'. "Remind me to smack him when we get back... jeez..."

Grimacing at the thought of sharing a water bottle with the foul-mouthed white mouse, Throttle lapped as much water as he could whilst the tube was untainted. He felt like a complete idiot the whole time his pink tongue worked the steel ball, and vowed to find some very nasty way to repay the humiliation the giant goon had subjected them to.

Inside the house, Charley tried her best to suppress the laughter at the site of Vinnie pedalling the plastic wheel like a rat on steroids. She knew that the other two mice would be horrified enough without her adding insult to injury.

_It's been ages... how long does it take for this to wear off anyway? _She was of course still thinking of the effects of Karbunkle's impractical invention. _Surely can't be much longer..._

She had her fingers crossed the transformation was impending. Greasepit had just pulled out a box of clothes from the roofless-loft, and they looked suspiciously like the kind of things a young girl might borrow from her mother. _He liked to play dress-up? This guy's got some serious gender issues he needs to sort out._ Charley groaned. That box was heading her way, and there was no way she was modelling its contents for anyone, especially not the ogling orang-utan practically oozing with romantic desires.

* * *

Thankfully for both the mechanic and her three studly hamster-boys, Greasepit was not doomed (or blessed... depending on perspective) with spending his life as a giant whilst dressing up his living, breathing human 'doll'. As soon as he shrunk back to his original size, Charley whipped out her holstered gun and stunned the disappointed dunderhead; then quickly found herself the means to free the three mice from their prison before it too returned to normal proportions.

It turned out the unconscious employee of Limburger's spent most of his free time at the house in the suburbs, and according to his mother still liked to get out his old toy box from time to time. She herself was a sweet little old thing, and had no idea what her son got up to when he was working. She pointed Charley to her late-husband's tool shed, and the mechanic quickly found some rope and scaled the mice's cage to its metal roof.

After a bit of a struggle, she managed to wrench open the rusty hinged door, and the mice used the rope to clamber out to safety. Moments later both the cage and the doll house were back to their original, miniature dimensions.

Afterwards, they were treated to a full, home-cooked meal by their captor's generous maternal host, who also delighted them with albums full of pictures from his youth. Three very grateful mice and one very happy human then clambered full-stomached onto their motorcycles, and returned to the comfort of their preferred abodes in high spirits (they couldn't contain their mirth at the image of baby 'Greasykins' in his fairy outfit at his infant school's Christmas play).

Whilst Charley made sure never to let the two older mice know how amusing she had found their predicament, when alone with the third she teased him mercilessly, and threatened to send the non-existent photographic evidence she had supposedly taken of him on the hamster wheel over to his friends back on Mars. It was an excellent way to make sure Vinnie actually did remember to brush his teeth before bed.


	15. High Rollin' Rodents part 1

Right here it is in all its gruesome glory: my version of my favourite episode of all (and no not just because Throttle gets tortured! It is actually one of the funniest and most gripping episodes in the whole entire original series, I think).

Yes the final countdown has begun, no this is not the final story in the series! But yet it is one of the most gory, so just to warn you delicate stomached folks out there, parts 2 and 3 are particularly nasty (and thus **I would personally classify this story as M rated**, you have been warned).

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

12. High Rollin' Rodents

From the distant purple dusk, swathed with a moody blanket of low-borne cloud, a flash of orange lit up the fading horizon, and the following noise cracked the humid silence with a thunderous rumble so loud it were almost as if the sky itself were falling. But this was no summer storm tearing apart the silent shores of the windy city. This was mayhem. A mistake. A tragedy.

_Oh no... what have we done?_

This was an error so epic in proportions it would be etched into the memories of the citizens of Chicago for many years to come. This day was when lives were lost not at the hands of terrorists, villains or monsters... but at those of the very people who had sworn to protect them. They hadn't just failed to stop their arch enemy's latest vile scheme, they had virtually helped him get away with it.

_Why... how could this all go so wrong?_

It all started when they found their favourite diner on the verge of demolition. The owner was a gentleman named Andy; who not only served the best hot dogs in the entire city, but had no problem with three fur-covered, boisterous aliens eating at his establishment. He was a kind, modest man, who held traditional values yet kept an open mind, not to mention an open door. He cared greatly for the trio of intergalactic heroes, but had an even softer spot for their female human friend. He welcomed them all, and the four of them spent many happy afternoons dining on his hot food whilst giving him the latest run-down of the day's heroic events.

So when they found out that their most-hated adversary had come into possession of the diner through some very questionable means, they weren't going to sit back and let him flatten it without a fight. If Andy had lost the restaurant at a casino run by Limburger, it was almost a given the poor man had been taken for everything he had. Literally.

It turned out the Plutarkian had discovered just how lucrative the gambling industry was, and had set up his own mini version of Las Vegas on a small island in what was once Lake Michigan. The barren wasteland still had not recovered from his stealing the entire contents of the great lake, but nonetheless even with very little water settled on the silty bed, the island was still inaccessible except by air.

Or by the most highly-modified, supped-up motorcycles in the solar system.

_We shouldn't have come here... why did we have to come here?_

The island was so isolated it was the perfect place for someone to set up a thief's den without the scrutiny of local law-enforcement. But this also included being beyond the easy reach of the aid of the emergency services.

* * *

_Three hours earlier..._

The three Martian mice had made their way to the bright lights of the Limburger casino with the intention of finding out whatever the pilfering Plutarkian was up to, and to put a stop to it before anyone else bankrupted themselves at his behest. Even for a species that was not easily impressed by material things (except perhaps for anything with horsepower or explosive potential), the lure of the neon signs and shiny furnishings was hard to ignore. For one of them anyway.

Vinnie not only thought himself something of a card shark, but swore that he was well known for his gambling prowess back home on Mars. His two bros had rolled their eyes at him in sheer exasperation.

_It's probably another one of those things he thinks he remembers but actually never happened... either that or three months in a coma has blown up his ego even more than we thought possible... _Personally Throttle didn't want to spend his time messing around in the casino hall, so he left the sensible, older mouse to chaperone their eager friend through the gilded maze of money, whilst he went elsewhere to do some proper detective work.

Modo groaned when his charge started pulling a load of absurd-looking costumes from a rail for them to disguise themselves with. "You're wearing the dress bro..." he had said, pushing away the offering of a long, pale set of robes, "I ain't wearing nothing that don't have two legs..."

Despite the change of outfits, they blended in to the thronging crowds like a clown at a black-tie ball. It wasn't long before they were spotted.

"Guys – what the heck? What are you wearing those things for?" Charley had recognised the two mice from the far end of the slots hall. _I knew those mice wouldn't think this through properly... honestly... they might as well hang a sign around their necks saying 'Beware Martian Mice' or something..._

The woman knew that it was only a matter of time before someone else noticed the unwelcome patrons snooping around the place, and so she wasted no time showing the two mice the particulars of the plans that she had made. Chips containing trackers so they could find the fat-fish's hiding place... and a few more containing plastic explosives. Just in case.

Meanwhile, the tan mouse had been doing some exploring of his own. He had found the den of devious dealings where Limburger and his cunning henchman, Dr. Karbunkle, were controlling the games to their favour. They were raking in the dough by the bucket load, and yet their unwitting guests just simply kept on playing. _Wow Charley-girl was right... humans really do find this stuff addictive..._

Unfortunately for Throttle, the second henchman in the Plutarkian's employment, the incurably ignorant Greasepit, discovered the mouse peering at them through the control room door. Not wanting him to go spoiling their fun, Limburger had had the unlucky rodent strapped down to another of the mad doctor's toys (although why he had a mediaeval-style torture tool in that hidden room at all was anyone's guess... perhaps he was simply fed up of being so short/hunched); a rack that was cleverly controlled by the actions of a slot machine. The one in particular that was about to be tested by two badly-dressed Martians and their undercover human companion...

Every pull of the lever resulted in a pull for the tethered tan-furred mouse. Vinnie's growing impatience at the lack of winning meant his captured bro was having a less than comfortable experience at his hands. Throttle could see on the view screen that Modo and Charley were trying to drag him away from the device, although what he didn't know (there was no sound accompanying the picture) was that they had already dumped a few tracker chips down the rigged machine and were eager to see just where they ended up. In his frustration, the white mouse had also added a few of the 'other' chips to deal with the seemingly defective device.

Seeing that the torture session was on the verge of being cut disappointingly short, Limburger ordered that the machine be set to pay out to keep them playing. Now Throttle was subjected to a desperate flurry of activity, as his gambling-addicted friend tried frantically to rid himself of the now-activated explosives.

Charley could not have foreseen that a five-minute time delay was not enough for them to evacuate the island and escape to the safety of the shore. She could not have known that Limburger and his goons had cottoned onto the reason behind the sudden and strange desire to put money _back_ _into_ his heavily-laden pockets, and had slipped quietly away from the island by the one and only means of transport available... She had no idea that she and her two heroic friends were about to destroy an entire building full of unsuspecting, innocent people... Realisation dawned as the sun itself set down below the horizon. But it was already too late.

The explosion was immense, and the entire structure came tumbling down around them, whilst the foundations were ripped from under their feet, sending them flying and falling at the same time.

And from the safety of the fleeing aircraft, one very smug businessman leant back in his seat with a wry smile across his masked face. He may have just lost a whole lot of ill-gotten cash... but he had simultaneously just been rid of the people who had plagued him night and day since their discovery of him in the city. And he hadn't even had to lift a finger.

* * *

"...Bros? Charley?"

He was just about able to free himself from the concrete rubble that had buried him. The metal of his bionic arm was dinted, but the limb was still intact and functioning, and he managed to use it to lift the rest of the heavy material from his body. Every part of him was cut and bruised from being thrown back from the force of the blast, and then rained down on by the falling debris. His singe eye stung with the dust that had coated it, and his lungs spasmed harshly as they tried to rid him of the particles he had inhaled. His ears were ringing from the amplitude of the explosive shock, and the only other thing he could hear now was the deep throbbing of his pounding heart - everything else externally was lost in a dim, muffled haze.

All of Modo's senses were in shock. He could hardly see or hear, his nose was blocked by dirt and his tongue coated by a film of crumbling plaster. He felt numb, the adrenalin wiping out all of the pain that he should have been feeling. As he pulled himself from the wreckage of the demolished casino, he had no easy way of finding his friends who were still buried somewhere, and he stumbled around shouting hoarsely for them.

_Got to find them... got to find my bros... and Charley...got to go find Charley... _

The staggering mouse felt his way blindly through the carnage, tripping over chunks of broken walls and ceiling, and slipping through water and blood and other things he could not make out. As he searched he felt the toe of his boots catch on the rocky detritus, and he lurched forward and fell face first into something soft.

"Yaargh... noooo" his stomach contracted when he realised what he had just fallen over onto. Modo pulled himself away from the still-warm body, and tried to move onwards, but everywhere he went he could feel beneath his feet objects that were not the rock-like remains of the destroyed building. The second time he fell he found himself inches from a severed limb... and promptly emptied the contents of his protesting stomach.

"Ungh... noo... CHARLEY? VINNIE..? THROTTLE?" He yelled their names over and over, hoping someone would respond, hoping they were all still out there... and still alive.

_They can't be far away... they were right next to me when the chips blew..._

Modo turned back to where he had extracted himself from the ruins, and crawled on his hands and knees whilst probing the rubble for the tell-tale velvet texture of his bro's fur. After what seemed like hours his flesh fingers brushed against something familiar, something long and thin, and firm...

"Bro..?" The mouse began digging frantically to extract the body to which the tail belonged, and soon was able to pull him out, tugging on the strong appendage until the rest of the furry form came free.

"Vinnie...? Vinnie are you ok bud?" He shook the unconscious white-furred mouse, and when he got no response he pressed his fingers against Vinnie's neck, finding the weak signs of a pulse. He lay his friend on his back and, just as he had been shown, pulled the snout upwards, opening the mouth to give him access to the lifeless airways. After a few breaths the young mouse coughed back to life again, and slowly opened his dust-encrusted eyes.

_Thank goodness... he's alive... but where's Charley? She was right there... right behind us..._

"Bro, you stay here... I gotta go find Charley. Don't move now you hear? You stay right there." Modo looked down at his blood-stained, dirt-covered friend, whose smaller size and more delicate body had meant he was probably injured far worse than him. He suspected at the very minimum a few broken ribs, a broken arm, maybe even a broken leg... but at least he was alive and he had found him. He just needed to find their even smaller, even more delicate human companion... and pray that she too was still with them.

"Bro..? M-M-Modo? Is that you?" Two pink eyes were open wide now, and staring up at the grey mouse full of confusion and fear. "Don't leave me bro..." he whispered, grabbing hold of the bionic fist before the older mouse could pull away.

"I gotta go, bud... you just stay here, I won't be long... I won't be far away..." Modo couldn't hear the frightened plea from the lips of the mouse at his feet, but he could feel the pressure he was exerting on his metal palm. He plied off the fingers gripping tightly onto him, and resumed his desperate search for their other friends.

Even in his dazed state the mouse knew he could not help her. He found the wounded figure of the female mechanic, unconscious but breathing, lying not far from where he left Vinnie. Her hairless skin allowed him a clear view of the extensive set of injuries she had sustained during the blast. Her face was cut and bloody, as was most of her exposed parts, and there were bits of glass and steel sticking out of the soft flesh of her abdomen and chest, puncturing through to her vital organs, leaving a tell tale darkening on the skin where she was bleeding internally. Modo knew not to try and pull these foreign bodies out of her. He was no medic, but he had to make sure someone who could help her found her in time.

"Charley-ma'am... stay with me Charley... I...I just have to leave you for a second, don't go anywhere... I will be right back ok?" The tears welling up in his eyes were washing away the dust that had muddied his vision, and as they fell away from his face he was better able to see the utter devastation all around him. And he was able to retrace his steps back to his bro much quicker too.

Vinnie looked up at him questioningly, but said nothing. His friend was fiddling around with his torn clothing, pulling the weird-looking costume from his chest so that he could reach the bandoleers hidden beneath.

Modo grabbed a handful of the expandable flares, and left the first glowing stick in the mouse's trembling hands. "It's ok bro... this is so I can find you again... don't let go of it whatever you do."

By now, he thought, someone on the shore would have noticed the destructive blast? Surely they must have seen the smoke and flames, or at least heard the deafening rumble as the plastic explosive detonated? Surely there would be people scrambling to find a way over to the isolated island, rushing to rescue the victims of the carnage, and save the lives of those still interred beneath the crumbling wreckage?

By that logic the grey mouse wandered through the concrete waste, lighting a flare and leaving it with each and every person he found that was actually still alive. He had left one with Charley too, and returned to her when his aching legs could no longer support his weight, and his tender heart could no longer bear the sight of all the death. He realised just how few flares he had actually distributed.

_Oh moma... what have we done...? _

The gentle grey mouse cradled his human friend in his arms, wishing he could help her, wishing he could help the others... wishing they had never set foot on that cursed island. Wishing that Limburger was also buried deep within the mangled mess surrounding him. He sat there, rocking the injured body he held, wondering how long before help would come... and if it would arrive in time.

_I can't help her, they will have to take her... but what about Vinnie..? What do I do about Vinnie?_

Modo was sure of one thing; taking the mouse to a human hospital was out of the question. He was going to have to do the best he could himself, and hope that was good enough. At least until Charley was well enough to fix them up...

_What if she doesn't make it... what then..? Oh moma, what then...?_

And there was one other matter that surfaced in his worried thoughts. Where was Throttle? He hadn't seen him since they split up to look for Limburger... and if that fat fish was somewhere underneath all this concrete chaos, then the tan mouse must be also. He could only hope that his friend had survived as they had, and that he was able to find him before someone else discovered him... or before they realised that he wasn't human.

* * *

Somewhere out on the edge of the city, a small aircraft was slowing to a halt in the tiny private airfield, and opening its side door to allow the passengers within to disembark. First down the steps was a large, purple-suited man, beaming at the sight of jagged, rooftop skyline before him.

"Aaah... Chicago... you're _all mine_ now. All mine with no one left to stop me taking every last bit of your vast untapped resources..."

The man was brimming with excitement. His future was one filled with possibility, and better still... the long-awaited chance at promotion. He might finally get some work done now, and get his never-satisfied boss off his back once and for all.

He was followed from the plane by his two head henchmen, accompanied by the small number of goons who had been lucky enough to reach the departing plane in time.

"Hey boss... what you want doing with this one?"

Limburger turned back and looked up at the tan body hanging limply from the goon's arms.

"Ah yes... let's bring him along too shall we... I have a simply _delightful_ time in store for him... Don't want him to miss out on all the fun now do we..?"

The Plutarkian clambered into the waiting Limousine, swelling with expectant glee as his paralysed prisoner was loaded into the following van. _That mouse is going to rue the day he ever came to Earth and poked his big nose into my affairs... I shall personally see to it that he wishes he had died on the island, along with those other bothersome brats and their annoying human friend._


	16. High Rollin' Rodents part 2

**WARNING: **This chapter contains scenes of torture that some readers may find disturbing.

* * *

_Hello! Is anybody down there?_

The sound barely penetrated through the buzzing of his burst ear drums, but somewhere deep inside the damaged lobes the nerves just about detected the cry emanating from the helicopter's loud speaker. It reached through to his exhausted brain, stimulating it enough to rouse the mouse from his half-sleep and lean his head back to see the glare of the spotlight searching the wreckage around him. Searching for any signs of life below.

It must have been over an hour since he lit the flares, and in the darkness he could only make out one or two that were still emitting their bright red signal for help. His own stick had since burnt out, and he sat there supporting the head of his human friend whilst the light faded from the twilight sky, waiting for any sign that someone had seen the appalling accident from the distant shoreline.

Eventually the emergency response unit had been deployed to the island, accompanied by a bomb disposal team, air ambulance, fire service, police, and just about everyone and anyone who was able to deal with such a catastrophe (so long as they had a helicopter, being as there was no access by boat and the landing strip for any other aircraft had been taken out in the explosion).

Modo realised what was going on. They had finally come to their rescue... to Charley's rescue. She was still alive, and now she would soon be saved.

And now he had to get himself, his wounded bro and their bikes off the island before anyone spotted him. He was going to have to leave Throttle behind... for the moment. He would never normally leave one of his own, but there was nothing he could do for him. It was too dark, and he was in no condition to go searching. He already had one patient to take care of, and he was more than enough of a handful as it was.

"Ungh... Charley... you're gunna be ok, the rescue people are here... they're going to take care of you now..." He bent his grey head to the unconscious woman's ear, whispering softly into it as he manoeuvred her body from his lap. "I gotta go get Vinnie now... but I promise you I will come find you, when you're in hospital... when you're all better... Promise me you'll get better Charley-ma'am... promise me you'll be waiting..."

He kissed her bloodied forehead before lowering her to the ground once more. He lit another flare and left it by her side, and dragged his aching body back to where he left the white-furred figure of his youngest friend. He was right where he left him, his eyes still wide and staring, still anxious and full of pain and confusion.

"B-b-bro... you came back...?"

"Yeah bro, I did, i'm sorry I took so long..." Modo didn't want to tell him about Charley just yet. He didn't want him to start panicking, or fighting him in order to get to her. He had to get him to the shore, and that was going to be difficult enough as it was. "We gotta go Vinnie... think you can get up now?"

The big grey mouse bent down and wrapped his arms and his tail around the shaking form on the floor, and lifted him to his feet. For a moment it looked like Vinnie might walk out of there himself... but then he stumbled as he tried to support his own weight, and Modo resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to carry him off the island himself. Well, until he found the bikes anyway – they weren't going anywhere without those.

Despite the vicious stabs of pain rampaging through his own battered body, Modo lifted the smaller mouse into his arms and staggered across the rubble with him until he reached the place they had stashed their motorcycles. As the bikes themselves were loaded with sophisticated AI, they had retreated from the explosive shockwave to the safety of a rocky outcrop at the edge of the island, and mercifully were still intact and ready for action. They signalled to the struggling mouse with their headlights, and he managed the extra distance with his heavy cargo.

"Vinnie... think you can hang onto your bike, or do you want to ride with me?"

"Uh... m-m-my bike? I... I have a b-b-bike...?"

The white mouse's hesitations were further amplified by his rapid stammering. He was shivering violently, and Modo knew a trip across the open expanse of the lake bed would only further chill him. He straddled his Lil' Hoss and pulled his bro in to his front, holding him in place with his tail. Vinnie clung onto him tightly, trying to ignore his pain and press himself closer for warmth, burying his bloodied nose into the grey fur on his older bro's broad chest.

Taking a deep breath, Modo revved his bike whilst indicating to the other two to do the same. He had already activated the buoyancy aids that would see them across the sludgy shallow water, and with one last glance back at the demolished building, and at the helicopters unloading the search and rescue crews, he kicked Lil' Hoss into gear and set off towards the shore.

_Don't worry Charley... you'll be ok. Throttle, wherever you are... I promise I will come back for you. I will find you, just hang on..._

A familiar pang of despair tore through him. He would never forgive himself for leaving his bro there to die or otherwise, not after everything they went through together. But he had to keep telling himself there was nothing he could do now... not yet anyway. He would go back for him as soon as he possibly could, and he just hoped that whenever that was wasn't too late to save him.

* * *

From the look of his new surroundings, he had a really horrible feeling about this latest turn of events. Now that the paralytic agent the mad doctor favoured so lovingly had finally worn off, he was at last able to open his eyes, and take in the awful details of where he had previously only been able to discern through other sensory means. Since his eyes had been closed for him after being drugged, he was only aware of the sensations of being removed from the electronically-controlled rack, and subsequently dumped onto the aisle floor of the escaping aircraft. He was well aware of his immobile body being kicked as he lay there, and he could clearly hear the jeers of the goons as they took full advantage of his helpless state.

He didn't have to see to know exactly what was going on... and Limburger himself could not help but give him a verbal run down of the blow by blow events as they fled the doomed island. And the ensuing explosive blast had all but confirmed the story in his drug-dulled mind.

_My bros... Charley... oh my, what have they done...? _

He refused to believe the fish's declaration that his three friends were almost certainly killed by the destructive detonation. He couldn't believe it... they were his only hope after all... unless fortune for once smiled upon him, and allowed him the chance to escape from what was almost certainly to be an unpleasant fate.

This was not the usual setting he imagined the Plutarkian to be working under. He had expected to be driven straight back to Limburger tower, and taken down to the basement laboratory to be experimented on by the evil scientist who lurked there. The last thing he expected when he opened his eyes was to be in a cell in a distinctly medieval-themed dungeon.

He only knew of the historical resemblance from an earlier brush with England's middle-ages via a time-travel device of Karbunkle's. At least then he had got to rub shoulders with some very noble and valiant knights... although he did spend a few hours locked up in a similar dungeon with his bros. They had quickly escaped the metal manacles, but then those old chains weren't forged from one of the strongest known metals in the cosmos, Plutarkian glass steel.

This time the shackles he was bound by were not going to give way so easily. He was sat on a straw-covered stone floor, with his wrists chained to the wall above his head. His ankles were also chained together, and the very sight of the cold steel attached to his limbs make his stomach squirm. This was a fairly uncomfortable reminder of somewhere else he had been, although thankfully here at least still had all of his clothes on.

_Oh crap... please let this just be Limburger's doing and not anyone else._

As if in answer to his mental pleas the corpulent captor appeared behind the bars of the wooden cell door, which then opened to reveal the fat fish grinning across at him, clearly amused by the apprehensive expression on the Martian's furred face.

"So, my dear manacled mouse.. what do you think of your new... how shall we put this... _living arrangements_?"

Throttle bared his teeth at the masked man gloating in the doorway, but refused to answer such a ridiculously rhetorical question.

"Nothing to say hmmm? Well you _repulsive_ rodent, i'm sure you will have plenty to say when you have some experience of my good doctor's newest toys..." He practically spat the words describing his disgust for the leader of the trio who had plagued his underhanded operations for the past few years. But those days were over for the mouse as far as he was concerned. The remaining few he was graciously granting the inmate in his historically styled prison were going to be punctuated by every other hateful feeling he harboured for the rebel rat, and the rest of his irksome species.

Throttle could practically feel the loathing emanating from the foul flounder's mouth as he spoke. He swallowed hard, wondering what exactly Limburger had in mind for him. If it had anything to do with the rack he had been tortured with earlier... and the alarming inference of his jail cell's decor... _Uh oh... this does not bode well at all._

The Plutarkian waved his gloved hand at the goons waiting outside the door, who responded immediately to the gestured request. Each of them were armed with a small, remote-control shaped gadget, though at each one's tip were two metal prongs that signified they were not used for changing channel on a television.

Limburger smirked as the tan body jerked with the force of the stun-gun's voltage, before slumping limply into the arms of his henchmen as they detached him from the dungeon wall. _So much for being the greatest warriors in the galaxy... I guess I shall indeed have the last laugh, and finally claim my own place in history as the one who eventually defeated the Biker Mice from Mars._

* * *

"Vinnie, will you quit wriggling – this is hard enough to do as it is without you mucking it up as well!"

Trying to stitch together the deep cut across his bro's shoulder was not the easiest of things on his medically-related to-do list. Despite having been shown how to sew not only by his now elderly mother, but by the extremely skilled hands of their human mechanic-come-mouse doctor, actually doing it without the helpful guidance of his female teachers was really quite tricky. Especially when the patient had no concept of the words 'stay still'.

"But bro... it _hurts_, and I don't think you're doing it right either..." The white mouse pulled away from the needle and thread for the fifth time, earning himself a smack across the head with a metal palm.

"I swear if you don't shut up and sit still I am going to... to..." Modo was so stressed out he could barely think of an appropriate retort to the younger mouse's infuriating comments. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and then slowly rose from his seat and went back to where he had left the medi-kit. _I knew Charley had it right when she came up with this one._

He pulled the reel of tape from the bag and, taking yet another relaxing inhalation, made his way back to the mouthy Martian with a new purpose in his eyes. After a brief struggle, Vinnie was now firmly restrained and Modo was able to continue with the sutures in peace.

"I warned you... now let's get this done before I have to experiment with some of the other stuff Charley stocked up inside that kit."

Vinnie's eyes widened, and he groaned in protest behind the sticky silver gag. He had no idea who this Charley was, but she sure was twisted keeping a roll of duct tape in her medical supplies.

The grey mouse bit his lips as he stitched away, his thoughts drifting between the deep laceration he was trying to mend, and the woman he had left behind on the island. _I hope she's ok... I hope they got her off of there in time... _

He also could not ignore the other worries pressing on his noble heart. He had left someone else there too; his other bro, their leader, his cunning confident. He had left him in favour of saving this annoying and ungrateful twerp tied down on the kitchen table; this blabbering idiot who apparently had little idea who he even was, nor remembered the two other lives that were hanging in the balance somewhere out there. _I can't believe he's forgotten Charley... he loves that girl, so he must have hit his head really hard this time... Oh Moma... how am I ever going to fix this without her?_

The mechanic had trained herself well in all the first aid and nursing care techniques she could ever need to patch her heroic companions up, and she had even gone so far as to learn minor field surgery, and pulled numerous strings to get all of the extremely expensive equipment she needed for that purpose. And whilst she had been teaching herself, she had been trying her hardest to bestow this new knowledge to her own patients... no doubt knowing that one day, like today, she would not be able to take care of them herself.

_I wish I had paid more attention... I wish I had the brains to take it all in. Throttle is the one for that, but he isn't here... oh god... Throttle... i'm so sorry..._

A few of his tears dripped of the tip of his black nose and onto the belly of the mouse he was working on. Vinnie could see the misery his friend and doctor was experiencing, and was puzzled. _I don't know why he's the one crying... i'm the one strapped to this b***** table being poked with sharp needle-things._

Modo dreaded having to move onto his friend's other injuries. The hand-written manual Charley had left was nothing if not thorough, but that didn't mean he felt at all capable of following the detailed instructions contained within. _Oh well I guess I could just splint his leg and arm for now..._ The bruising under the white pelt was darkening rapidly, and he sincerely hoped the damage beneath was limited to the broken bones and not anything more serious. And he had no idea how to deal with head trauma, nor knew how long until their gifted human carer was able to come back and sort it out for them... if she even came back at all.

* * *

Apparently Limburger had been more than a little inspired by his ill-fated trip to the historical realm of medieval England. Not only had he had this pseudo-castle built somewhere on the outskirts of the modern city, he had made sure it came complete with an underground dungeon and, more ominously, a large and very well-equipped torture chamber.

_Karbunkle's more obsessed than I thought... what the hell is all this stuff?_

The Plutarkian had left the finer details to his sordid scientist, who had spent many joyful hours researching a vast array of devilish devices used against the wicked in the early centuries on Earth. Having selected a few he particularly liked the look of, Karbunkle had re-created them with much enthusiasm, and even updated some to include a few of the more modern innovations he was able to employ.

Now his unwilling subject was about to be the first to test all of the rest of them out (he had already seen the rack...). Well, no... not quite. The ever present little mutant had _insisted_ he was the first to try them all. Fred was unashamedly the single most extreme masochist the doctor had ever had the pleasure of working on.

By contrast, the trembling mouse being dragged forcibly into the room was not so eager to have a go at the cringe-inducing contraptions.

"Aha... what do we have here... Ah yes... my newest test subject..." Karbunkle was simply thrilled he finally had the leader of the bothersome bikers at his disposal. He indicated which of his modernised machines he wished the mouse to experience first, and the goons hauled their helpless victim to it, chuckling at the thought of what the doc was going to do with the strange-looking equipment.

This one looked harmless enough at first glance. It consisted of a wooden frame, with a long cable that was tied at one end to one of the cross-bars, whilst the rest of it was drawn up and over the top, so that its other end dangled freely. Throttle already had his wrists re-chained behind his back, and these were now being attached tightly to the free end of the thick rope.

He stood there for a moment wondering if that was it (hoping, anyway) until he realised the cross-bar was not fixed in the frame behind him. Karbunkle was turning a handle at the side of the device, and the pulley to which the mouse was attached went taut, before slowly lifting him from the ground.

_What the h-?_

The deviant doctor kept on turning the crank so that the rope wound further and further around the cross-bar, and the mouse was lifted higher and higher until his toes could no longer take his weight. He felt his body rocking forwards, and his arms began to bear the brunt of his body's heavy load.

Throttle gasped. Pain shot through his arms and shoulder blades, and the joints screamed in protest at this unnatural position they had been forced into. He struggled, but this only made the stabbing sensations worse, and as he was lifted higher still he could not stop himself from crying out.

"Yaaargh...!" _Oh...my... jeez this really... hurts..._

Just when he thought he couldn't cope any longer, his feet were on the ground again.

"How wonderfully unpleasant that must have been for you... shall we try it again?" Karbunkle was already back to winding the rope, and soon the tan mouse was dangling once again by his weakened shoulders. "Ooo... I wonder what happens if I..."

This time instead of being lowered slowly to the ground, the cruel crone let the rope loose so that the mouse fell sharply... but before he could actually touch the floor Karbunkle stopped the dropping Martian mid-fall. The resulting jerk was accompanied by a soft popping sound, and Throttle screamed shrilly as both of his arms came free from their sockets.

"Oops... I guess you've had enough of that one hmmm?"

Having already once experienced the agony of a dislocated limb, the mouse could not agree more.

"Now now dear doctor, I thought you were going to leave ripping him to pieces until _after_ we have had our fun?" Limburger had been watching the show from the corner of the room, and it was only now he spoke the groaning tan-furred biker even realised he was there. The rank smell that accompanied him was unusually indistinct today for some reason.

"No matter, it won't take long to put them back in, then we can move onto something else..."

After a lot more screaming, and several choice swear words, Throttle's aching arms were back where they were meant to be, and soon he was being dragged over to the next instrument of his sequential torture.

The metal object on the floor didn't exactly look dangerous, but then neither had the rope and frame he had just been attached to. This thing was simply an iron ring with a screw-like fitting at the top. First though the mouse found himself being pushed onto his knees, and his arms (now chained in front of him again) tucked into his sides. Essentially he had been folded into a ball, and was soon being shoved _inside_ the metal ring.

Now Karbunkle was turning the screw at the top of the metal band, and the hunched mouse felt the loop tightening round him. Soon it was pressing so hard around his body he could barely breath, let alone move.

"Is that it? What no spikes? Does it not go any tighter?" Limburger was eager for his prisoner to vocalise his discomfort a little more, but this second device didn't seem to be producing the desired effect.

"Have patience my tumescent tormentor... whilst in this position we can do so _much more_ to him... So, so much more..."

"Oh really... like what?" The Plutarkian's insidious interests had been sparked now, and he was eager to see what else his malevolent medic had in mind for his enjoyment.

"Like this, oh sugary stilton-ness..." Karbunkle was now brandishing another bizarre-looking torture tool. It was roughly the size of one of their laser pistols, maybe a little longer, and definitely wider than the barrel of their weapons. One end vaguely resembled a metal moulding of a pear, and the other was an ornate little screw fixture, which the horrid henchman gladly demonstrated its purpose to his boss. Each twist of the knob gradually opened up the other end, showing that it was in fact made up of three separate pieces.

"Err... ok... and what exactly do we do with it?" The puzzled Plutarkian cast his gaze to the immobile inmate at his feet, who was looking at the strange thing Karbunkle was clutching with obvious unease.

"Well that depends... do you want him to hear him scream... or would you prefer some silence for a while?"

"Uh... why don't you just show me what it does and then I will decide..." Limburger still didn't know how the inner workings of his scientist's twisted mind actually functioned, but whatever he had come up with it was bound to be interesting.

"Your wish is my command oh flatulent fragrant one... may I suggest we start with the quiet option..?"

Karbunkle bent down to the trapped mouse, and shoved his latex-gloved fingers into his cheeks, before finding a weak point at which he could force the tightly-clenched jaw open. With his other hand he had rammed the pear-shaped end of the metal contraption into Throttle's mouth before he could snap it back shut (the doc was extremely strong in the fingers, having put them to good use over the years... and he had had plenty of practice in getting Martian mice to open wide for him. If he hadn't turned to crime, Karbunkle would probably have pursued a career in dentistry).

The bulbous end of torturous tackle was already nearly big enough to fill his entire snout, but as that screw was turned the pressure on his jaw grew to unbearable levels. Throttle's eyes widened with his mouth, but he was unable to rid himself of the thing that was threatening to either break the hinges of his lower skull, or at the very least tear the delicate tissues in the corners of his gape. He moaned at the agony his head was suffering. He wondered how much further the thing was going to open... and, more worryingly, what else Karbunkle had intended to do with such a horrific, yet deceptive-looking object.

Limburger was wondering the same thing. "Err yes... how very effective at shutting that ridiculous rat up... I take it you intend on using this one later too?" The fish was really looking forward to seeing his arch enemy being dismembered... but he had insisted they saved it for later – it wasn't often he had the luxury to take his time over ridding himself of the last of his furry foes.

"Yes indeed, you milky smoothness... Now, do you want to see what else this... _delightful_ device can be used for?"

"There's more...? How simply splendid, dear doctor... carry on..."

Neither Limburger nor Throttle could have expected the white-clad weirdo to be quite so debased as this, but once the metal monstrosity had been extracted from his now very sore muzzle, the demented doc had whipped a sharp knife from his lab-coat and cut a vertical line in the taut seam of the bent-double biker's denim jeans...

Even with the liberal application of lubrication, inserting such a large device into the back passage of the shocked mouse had been extremely unpleasant, and what followed was even worse. The tan-furred captive yelled so loudly in distress that Limburger eventually insisted that something be used to muffle the piercing shrieks echoing around the chamber. Karbunkle had obliged with a second, identical pear-shaped plug, and the loathsome duo stood back to watch their defenceless detainee suffer in relative silence.

The decided to leave him there a while, and resume their fun in the morning. It was getting late, and even Limburger could only stomach so much of his right-hand man's deeply disturbing foray into the depths of his perverse imagination.


	17. High Rollin' Rodents part 3

**WARNING:** This chapter contains scenes of torture that some readers may find disturbing.

* * *

"Hello...? Err, this is the Last Chance Garage... how can I help you?"

Modo still couldn't get used to just how polite sounding Charley was when she answered the telephone, and no matter how hard he tried to imitate it, his own voice never quite sounded as good as hers.

"_Yes.. hello... am I speaking to one of the mice?"_

That was the last thing he expected to be asked by the person on the other end of the line. But then his voice was vaguely familiar somehow...

"Err... who are you again?"

"_I'm guessing you're Modo right?" _

"Yeah... how did you know? Do I know you?"

"_Yes you do, you all do, anyway this isn't about me. I just rang to tell you I heard about the explosion, and I noticed a Miss Davidson was brought into the hospital sometime in the early hours of this morning. I'm assuming this means something to you?"_

"Oooh, I know who you are now..." Having a professional doctor on speed dial was the reason Charley was able to take such good care of them. He hadn't considered that the officially trained medic had a real job to get on with, not just running random errands whenever they needed his skills. "Yeah, yeah it does... is she ok doc? I... I couldn't do anything, I had to leave her for the rescue teams to find..." He trailed off, hoping the man listening to his ramblings hadn't detected the guilty tones behind his brief summary of events.

Modo went on to explain in further detail what had happened on the island, and the kindly surgeon had in turn told the anxious mouse that their friend was in good hands, but she would have to have some major surgery to remove the shrapnel buried in her soft fleshy tissues, and repair any damage to the organs below. It was too soon to tell, but Charley was a strong woman, and hopefully this would help her on the road to recovery.

"When can I come see her?" The grey mouse was so relieved to hear the promising news, he almost forgot she was in a human hospital and that he was a giant Martian mouse.

"_Erm i'm not so sure you can son, I will let you know how she is getting on though, don't you worry."_

"Oh... of course... uh... can I ask you a favour doc?" Modo suddenly remembered that there was another patient in need of professional attention.

The doctor agreed to come by as soon as he was off duty, which left the oldest of the three bros free to think about the last missing member of their group. There had been nothing on that morning's news about the discovery of any alien bodies in the mass of concrete mess, but then from what his human friend had told them, such a finding would probably be kept well away from the prying eyes of the media.

_Hang on out there bro... as soon as the doc's been to see Vinnie i'll be there. I will find you I promise._

What the honourably paternal-feeling mouse did not know, of course, was that his friend was not buried alive or dead out there on the decimated island. If only he had known the truth, and that in fact Throttle had been taken away to suffer a much, much worse fate.

* * *

As if things hadn't been bad enough already, it seemed his tormentors had not yet tired of subjecting him to their sadistic whims. In the morning the pear-shaped plugs had been removed from his various orifices, and he had been released from the crushing metal ring and dragged over to what looked like an ordinary chair. Before he had been seated, however, Karbunkle had picked up a small remote and turned a dial on its front. This had the effect of activating the hundreds of hidden spikes situated in the chair's wooden body.

Throttle groaned. He was getting tired of being repeatedly impaled. _What next, is Limburger going to sit on my lap whilst his disgusting doctor pokes by behind with his pointy bits..? _He almost chuckled, he always did suspect there was something odd going on with the pair of them. Now he knew for sure; they really were sick in the head.

"Urgh, you honestly think anything you do to me is going to make me tell you anything?" The mouse could hardly disguise the contempt he felt for the vile villain's attempts to make him suffer. He felt sure he had gone through much worse in his lifetime, and he wasn't about to crack now just because they had found a more inventive way of getting him to talk.

"Don't be stupid you presumptuous pest... there is nothing you can tell me that will make me put an end to your misery prematurely. I want you to suffer... and then, yes, I want you to die. Just so we're clear."

"Right... just so we're clear huh... knock yourself out." Secretly though, Throttle did not feel as brave as he was trying to make himself out to be. He really did not want to have to sit on that spine-filled chair. He did not want to have to experience any more of the myriad of pain-inducing inventions the doctor had pulled from his warped set of history books. But he had no choice, and soon was fastened tightly down and facing the next bout of cruel punishment that was heading his way.

Unfortunately, the sharp metal prongs threatening to puncture his skin like an absurd pin-cushion were not the only things coming for him. Karbunkle was a multi-tasker at heart, and having (reluctantly) handed over the little controller to his impatient employer (with strict instructions to only turn the dial VERY SLOWLY), the medieval-meddler pulled out a box of 'extras' to make the whole experience much more exciting.

The box contained a set of twenty, thin-tipped wooden wedges, although the terrified mouse only knew the final number when the last of them had been used on him.

_Holy __**%^&*%^&**__ crap..! No wonder Charley gets so damn upset when she breaks a nail..._

One wedge for every digit the Martian mouse possessed, and it seemed yet again his tormentor had done his homework. Ten of the little tapered sticks were specially shaped to accommodate his much more claw-like endings to his furry toes.

Throttle roared in agony as each was inserted under the keratinous tips, and tried desperately to pull away from his seat as Limburger added to his misery by turning up the dial.

"My dear demented deviant... what the hell are you doing now?" The monstrous minnow was starting to doubt whether or not he could actually stomach having his captive taken apart, the crimson pool forming under the chair was already making him feel rather queasy. And watching Karbunkle at work made him thank his lucky stars that Plutarkians did not possess claws or nails of any sort. Well, nothing like the ones mammals had anyway.

"Just one more thing your chunky cheesiness... i'm sure you will enjoy this, yes?"

Limburger disagreed. It turned his stomach watching Greasepit clipping his own filthy nails and leaving the remnants on the floor, but this was something else entirely. The wretched rodent was practically deafening him now with his frantic, yet fruitless yelping, and minutes later each and every one of his curved claws were presented on a bloodied cloth to the man who had ordered his terrible, drawn-out torture session.

"I think that's enough for today...Karbunkle..." he whispered, turning an even deeper shade of green than normal.

"But.. your stinkiness... we've only just begun – there's still the..."

Whatever he had been about to say was dismissed by a wave of Limburger's hand. If they were already up to the stage of finishing the mouse off he wanted to have a lie down before it began. This was too soon after breakfast for such bloody games in the dark depths of his mock-dungeon.

* * *

He must have spent hours clambering around on the collapsed concrete, but even with his almost senses fully restored he could not detect anything that suggested his bro, or even the corrupt owner of this crumpled catastrophe, were even in the wreckage at all. What puzzled him more was that there also wasn't any sign of the small plane that Limburger had used to get to and from the island.

_Is it possible he escaped? But how... how could he have known that we were about to level the whole place? _

Modo slumped himself down on one large block of broken wall, his head resting on his dirtied hands, musing over whether or not the fraudulent fish had found out their plan before they had even begun to execute it.

_He must have had cameras... if the games were rigged he must have been watching. He knew we were there all along... he must have known about the explosives too..._

He was exhausted, and he still had not found the third of his friends. It was starting to dawn on him that perhaps, just perhaps, Throttle had actually escaped the doomed isle before it had been decimated. What he didn't want to think about was the very real possibility that his bro hadn't escaped at all, but had been taken... taken by the fleeing fish in the mysteriously disappearing aeroplane.

Modo groaned. He had nearly come to terms with the fact his bro might have been flattened under several tonnes of falling rubble, but it had never occurred to him that he might in fact have been taken prisoner, and could be out there somewhere just waiting for somebody to come and rescue him.

_Oh moma, why didn't I come looking sooner...? _

With Vinnie out of action (and sedated by their helpful off-duty doctor), and Charley still in surgery, it was up to him and him alone to go and search for his missing bro. He would start with the tower, but if he wasn't there he really had no idea where to even begin. Limburger had had two days head start... and goodness knows just how far that had taken him.

* * *

They had left him alone in the chamber for several hours now. He was still strapped firmly to the spike-filled chair, although his head was free and had slumped down onto his chest, having more or less passed out from the raw discomfort his body was enduring. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had been starting to wonder if Limburger was right about his friends... that they had in fact been killed by the explosion that they had caused, and that nobody was out there looking for him after all.

If Limburger intended to put an end to his life, he was starting to wish he did it sooner rather than later. However, he sensed his main tormentor had not yet finished demonstrating his vast array of replica instruments from the middle ages, and that there was much worse to come for him before the end.

_Please let Limburger have a weaker stomach than he lets on... a quick death would be a small mercy after everything that's happened... do Plutarkians even know the word... mercy...?_

At some point around dawn Throttle was woken from his half-slumber by several goons pulling him free of his restraints, and dragging him back into the cell he had first been placed in. They had become bored of waiting for their boss to finishing messing around with the Martian mouse, and they wanted to get in some long-awaited revenge before their putrid-smelling employer and sinister sidekick had done away with him completely.

He lay on the straw-covered floor, waiting for the inevitable blows to his already beaten body, listening to them taunting him, watching them as they picked up the weapons they intended to put to full use...

_This is it... now is my chance.. Do those idiots really think i'm going to let them have their way with me?_

He hadn't yet given up entirely, there was still some vestige of hope, and he was taking what might be the last opportunity for him to make a bid for freedom.

Using his tail Throttle suddenly latched onto the nearest pair of legs and swiped the unsuspecting thug off his feet. Quick as a flash he had then grabbed the laser pistol in the fallen man's holster, and began firing at every one of them (who actually panicked and leapt out of the way of the rampaging rodent), before hauling himself onto his own bloodied feet and running out of the cell as fast as he possibly could.

He twisted and turned, trying to find the right path, trying to head for the safety of the outside. An alarm was sounding in the castle, and soon he found that everywhere he went, every corner he took, someone was blocking his way. In desperation he flung his way up a flight of stairs, hoping to reach the upper levels, hoping to find a window he could jump from.

Seconds later he had found what he was looking for, and took his chances with the long drop to the ground. Thankfully, the soft grassy lawn broke his freefall quite gently, and with a roll to absorb the remaining shock, the mouse was able to get up and continue his frantic dash for freedom.

He had almost made it to the gate. He was so close. So very, very close...

He felt the shot connecting with the back of his knee, crumpling his right leg so that he followed it to the ground. He tried to drag himself onwards, but the ensnaring net that was then fired over him quickly put an end to his efforts.

"Nooo...! No, no... noooo!" Throttle was overcome by the heavy mesh, and sobbed pitifully as he was wrapped up in its wiry web and then dragged back towards the castle, and into the oppressive, subterranean prison.

Tears were slipping down his sodden-furred cheeks as they chained him up once more in his windowless cell. _No escape... no hope... please let this just end...please..._

Limburger was extremely displeased with his useless goons. Their foolish attempt to have fun with the captive without his permission had almost cost him his most prized prisoner. He ordered them from the room so that he could be alone with the weeping mouse, and so he could decide what punishment was most deserving of the crime.

He stood there watching him for a while, somewhat amazed at the transformation he was witnessing. He even almost felt sorry for the forlorn figure hanging before him.

_Whatever happened to you..? You used to be so full of bravado, so unshakable... unfathomable sometimes... How come it was this easy for me to break you down..? _

He was starting to get the feeling that, as villainous as he was, and as uncaring as he felt in general for the Martian and human populations alike, a cold-blooded killer perhaps he was not after all. Sure, watching the mouse squirm and cry as he was tortured had been fun (though maybe more for his dubiously-minded doctor), and he had longed for, dreamed even, for quite some time that he would one day have the mice on their knees and begging for his mercy...

The procrastinating Plutarkian shook his head. It unsettled him when his mind drifted this way. Far too many times he had questioned where his loyalties lay, and here he was doing it again. _Get a grip Limburger... this is your chance. Finish him once and for all and move on with your life. Conclude your dealings here in Chicago and get that promotion you deserve, and don't look back wondering if it was the right thing to do._

He stepped closer to the mouse, and took the soft-furred face into one of his hands. With the other he removed the green field specs, and then he stared directly into those wide garnet eyes before him, full of misery and hopelessness, empty of any of the optimism or strength that once had defined them.

_So this is what it feels like to look into the soul of someone who has nothing left to live for... _

Without a word he let the little velvet muzzle fall, and turned away from the tiny cell, leaving the defeated mouse locked alone in the darkness once again.

* * *

"Are you sure? I mean, are you certain that was it?"

"Sure as I am sure, sonny, that plane took off from that island before it exploded and headed due west... if i'm not mistaken there is an old airfield on the edge of the city out that way. If I was to guess, i'd say it probably went right by there..."

Modo thanked the dock worker for his time, and sped off in the direction the man had indicated to him. He had spent over a day now speaking to people who might have been on the shore that day, trying to find anyone who might have noticed the aircraft that must have left the casino before the buildings came down around them. Finally he had found someone, and if the man was indeed correct about the location of a potential landing site for the plane, it was his best chance of finding out what happened to his missing bro.

He sped as fast as he dared towards the old airfield. Getting in trouble for speeding now would only reduce his chances of discovering his friend's fate further still, so he played it safe, and kept to the speed limit the entire way there.

At first he thought the place was deserted, but after snooping around for a while he came across what appeared to be a security guard, although one that was very reluctant to divulge any information pertaining to the night in question. Modo was well aware he might have been paid off to keep his mouth shut, but he had no time for niceties, and persuaded him to tell him everything using the laser cannon in his metal arm.

Five minutes later he was following a new set of directions, and he raced along the route he was given, hoping the man hadn't sent him on a wild goose chase... hoping that he made it to the fish's hiding place in time.

_That malodorous malefactor better not have harmed my bro... _

From what the stuttering security guard had described to him, it sounded very much like Throttle was not going to be treated well at all.

_Did he say they were going to a castle..? _

Modo shuddered. Every experience he had ever had that had anything at all to do with castles had been very far from pleasant.

* * *

"I don't have to explain myself to anyone, you duplicitous dolt, have that mouse taken out on the front lawn and get it over with. I want to be back in my tower before the end of the day, and I don't want any trace of Martian coming back with me... Understand?"

"As you wish my putrid pontificator... Have you any... requests... for how?"

Limburger could sense Karbunkle wanted to draw the whole thing out for as long as possible. Clearly the madman was bored of his day job; why else did he want to linger out here pulling bits off the helpless hostage they no longer needed?

"Do whatever you want just make it quick. If he screams make it quicker, I don't want the neighbours complaining about the noise. Better still, shut him up before you do it. I'm tired of the shrieks, they don't half give you a headache after a while..."

Karbunkle was dumbfounded. A couple of days ago his belligerent boss had been practically begging him to make the mouse scream his lungs out.

_Oh well, guess I get to have all the fun... _

He had spent the entire night trying to decide what would be the best way to dispatch of the rodent rebel in their clutches, and he was still convinced that the only satisfying way was to take him apart piece by piece. But quickly? Hmmm, that would be tricky, he thought, and no doubt punctuated by the unbridled bawling cries of agony throughout the process.

_Darn it, I so wanted to hear his voice die with him... gags ruin half the fun._

In the end he selected a simple, quick and effective method of subjecting the mouse to his horrific ending.

He had the goons carry him out on to the immaculate lawn in front of the main terrace, and stake him down with four wooden spikes tied to each of his limbs. The devious doctor had concocted an impromptu contraption to meet his means of torturing the prone form before him; a sort of guillotine with no base, just a frame and a heavy, sharp-edged blade that was free-sliding between it. He set this rig in place above Throttle's left ankle (the blade was still tied firmly at the top of its housing) before moving to the head of his soon to be executed prisoner.

"Open wide, my dear doomed dormouse... don't want to upset the good people next door now do we...?" _Or my lily-livered employer... what the hell is wrong with him anyway?_

One again Karbunkle plied the clenched jaw open with his strong digits, and pushed a soft, leathery wad of material onto the fleshy tongue within. He then used another piece of material to tie the mouse's muted muzzle shut, and stood up to return to the metal cutter glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

Throttle's eyes widened in anticipation. He could see exactly what the deformed doc was intending to do to him. His chest was quivering with each shallow, rapid breath he took, and his heart fluttered behind the anxious ribcage, as if it too were waiting...

_I'm so sorry bros, Charley, everyone here on Earth, everyone back on Mars... Carbine... I'm so sorry I failed, I failed you all... please forgive me...please... _

He lay his head back and shut his eyes. Any moment now. Any second and the end would begin. He wanted it now, he really did. He wanted it all to finally be over.

But nothing was happening. _Why is nothing happening?_

He opened his weakly-working eyes, trying to focus on the world above and around him, trying to make sense of why he was still lying there intact, and not dead.

What his eyes could not sense, his ears could. In the near distance he could hear a familiar sound, and as the vibrations reached his body where he lay, he felt his heart lift. It was a bike... a Martian bike... and it was coming his way...

_It can't be... they're all dead... he said they were all dead..._

But they weren't, and as the gentle but determined face of his grey-furred friend peered down over him, smiling that he had eventually found his missing comrade, and that he was in time to save him (just), Throttle could not help but smile back. The joy erupting from his heart washed away all the earlier feelings of hopeless despair, and when he was finally freed from the stakes holding him to the ground he wrapped his aching arms around his bro's body, and hugged him so tightly it hurt them both. Modo hugged him back, and the two of them wept in relief that they were, at last, together once again.

* * *

_Two weeks later..._

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE DISCHARGED HERSELF?"

All three bros had been extremely shocked at the news they had received from the hospital receptionist. Charley had recovered from her surgery, and apparently was fed up with being bed-bound and kept away from her friends. From what they understood, she had ignored the advice of her doctor and, with all the determination that they loved in their human friend, signed a form to release herself from their care. Now she was demanding that someone go and get her and bring her home.

Modo hadn't meant to yell down the line at the poor man passing on the message, but he didn't like the thought that the mechanic was taking herself away from the better option of medical care just so that she could come and tend to them. For that reason alone he had been very evasive about the details of his two bro's conditions (not to mention the injuries he himself had been concealing for the past few weeks) when he spoke to her over the phone. But despite his efforts, she was simply having none of it.

Vinnie was practically high most days, as the only way to deal with his failing memory and broken limbs was to load him up with sedatives and painkillers and lock him in his bedroom to sleep it off. Throttle was equally in no shape to run the errand, not least since he was still unable to face putting on his biker boots, and still had two very angry shoulder joints that refused to allow him to raise his arms any higher than his belt.

Modo resigned himself to the duty, and soon returned with one very happy, very bruised-looking woman, who immediately began fussing over the state of the garage/living room/mice/bills/laundry pile and pretty much everything that had fallen apart in her absence.

None of the three mice dared to try and stop her. They knew that even a brush with death and several hours on the operating table would not stop her from her mission.

After only a couple of days she had re-plastered Vinnie's broken limbs, re-stitched and bandaged every cut on all three mice, reset Throttle's dislocated shoulders again, adjusted the absurd dosages of medication Modo had been dishing out, cleaned up her garage (with the help of the mice – she wasn't letting them get away with doing nothing) and telephoned her medic friend to thank him for preventing the mice from actually killing themselves whilst she was away.

After all that she took herself to bed and vowed never again to let Vinnie anywhere near anything containing plastic explosive. How she would get that to stick in his damaged brain she would tackle another day... For now she just wanted to sleep. Her damaged body was still in need of serious rest, and so were her fragile heart and soul. She wanted to somehow push the awful images she had seen of the island that she had helped destroy out of her mind. How long it would be until the authorities found out it was all her fault she didn't know (the reports had blamed a faulty gas supply...), but in the meantime the terrible guilt she carried for being responsible for the death of over 60 innocent people would stay with her, and haunt her moral conscience up until the very day she died.

* * *

*Just in case you are wondering, all of the contraptions Karbunkle used on poor Throttle were indeed employed by people in the middle ages to deal with wrong-doers. (The first: the pendulum/strappado; the second: The street-sweeper's daughter/pear of anguish; the third: The chair of torture/toe-wedging/de-nailing). Aren't we all so glad we didn't live back then, although some of these methods are still used in some countries today... *shudder*


	18. Where no mouse has gone before part 1

Still counting down... So many ways I could finish this... I wonder which I will choose... mwahahahahaaaa...

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

13. Where no mouse has gone before.

When they decided to leave Charley alone for a while so that she could get some rest, they hadn't planned on going quite so far away. Their human friend was still quite frail after nearly being blown up on an island in the middle of Lake Michigan, and despite insisting on discharging herself from hospital barely two weeks later, she wasn't exactly fit and well. The three mice she had been desperate to take care of were healing much faster than she, and so they had decided to give her a well-earned break (with her certified medical practitioner only a phone call away should she need him), and go and spend a day poking around an old junk yard on the edge of Chicago.

They intended to make use of the free time to search for old bike parts, and to try to help the youngest of the three remember just exactly who he was... and who they were. For some reason he was able to recognise Modo, kind of, and to some degree Throttle (although he still wasn't sure where from...) but their female friend was totally lost on him. He understood Charley meant a lot to them, to all of them, and he could clearly see how upset she was when he didn't engage with her the way she expected him to. This was the other reason why the mice had given her some space that day. Vinnie was insensitive at the best of times, but lately his tactless behaviour had really been pushing it.

So they had spent a pleasant few hours scrounging for old metal, regaling the younger mouse with stories of their youth and of their history back on Mars, of the Plutarkians that had destroyed their world, and of the one who was trying to do the same here. They reminded him of their heroic missions, and those wonderful days when they had stopped some catastrophe or other happening in the city they now called home. And when Vinnie had asked if things had ever gone wrong, they mournfully retold the stories of the times when not everything had exactly gone to plan. They kept the details to a minimum though, not wanting to lower the mood of their day out, but they felt confident the listening mouse was slowly piecing things together in his own mind (_Oh, so is that how come I have this thing on my face? I just thought it was some cool new fashion accessory..._).

The junk yard had been as far as they had intended to venture that day, and they had a relaxing evening ahead planned, which included little more than stuffing their faces with hot dogs and root beers, listening to some heavy metal tunes, and cleaning up the spoils from their day at the dump. They did not expect to find themselves several billion miles away on another planet, let alone this one particular planet.

_Oh man... is this... __**Plutark**__?_

As far as they were aware, none of their kind had ever set foot on this giant ball of wasted land before (Martian prisoners were usually taken to various moons or other outposts scattered throughout the galaxy), and they had no idea how come they were the first. Or how precisely they were going to get back. But they knew from the moment they appeared just exactly where they had ended up. The smell of rotten eggs, unwashed socks and mouldy cheese that was the signature of the species who dwelled here was so overpowering they were almost sick. Their bikes didn't like the atmosphere either, it seemed, as the rancid air was making short work of their delicate wiring.

Thankfully the mice were expert mechanics in their own right, and soon sequestered enough Plutarkian-made wiring to replace the dissolved cables in their vehicles. Unfortunately, during their little raid for the tough components, they had bumped into some of the locals on their way back to the relocated junk yard.

It had taken some skill on Throttle's behalf to convince the small fishy family that they were indeed Plutarkian delegates from Mars dressed up as mice, and that the reason why Vinnie was unable to greet them in their traditional manner was that some bothersome rodent had hit him on the head, and he had simply forgotten the etiquette.

"Oh dear, how dreadful, you poor thing..." The green-scaled wife looked at their white mouse in a maternal manner, offering to show him just how things were done.

Modo and Throttle had found it very, very difficult to keep a straight face as their pink-skinned bro pressed his butt-cheeks to the smelly posterior of the female flounder.

"Pucker up Vincent... you don't want to keep the lady waiting..." The tan mouse had sniggered into his gloved hand as he watched the bizarre ritual unfold. But the smile quickly disappeared when he realised the husband was offering his own rear-end for their pleasure.

_Oh man... just when I thought we got away with it..._

"That's right bro, pucker up... show Vinnie how it's done now..." The gleeful grey-furred face also fell stony when it was his turn to follow suit.

After the formalities were over, the three mice had found themselves invited over to the family's home for dinner. Despite having not eaten since breakfast, all three Martians hastily declined, and quickly pressed onwards back to their broken bikes.

Everything might have been ok if Vinnie had kept his mouth shut. They might have been able to somehow find a transporter, or even stolen a ship to get them back to Earth. But no, the white-furred motor-mouth just had to crack a joke about the inhabitants of this planet and their questionable hygiene standards. And he had to do it just as another, less friendly, member of the indigenous population happened to be wandering by.

"Errr... oops?"

"Got it in one Vin-man, you really need to learn when to shut up you know."

"Is that something else I forgot?" Vinnie looked hopefully at the two scornful faces of his bros.

"Nope... you have always been an ignorant prat in this department, which is probably why we always end up in so much trouble." Modo glared back at his young friend with a distinctly irritated look. "Next time you hit your head it will be because I smack you one for being such an idiot... jeez bro."

The offended fish had blown loudly on a whistle the moment they realised these three mice were _not_ one of its own kind in costume, and seconds later what appeared to be an entire Plutarkian army squadron had them completely surrounded. They had no choice but to surrender, and soon they found themselves thrown roughly into a cell in one of the planet's most ominous looking prisons, a floating island right in the middle of a gigantic festering pond of sewage, miles away from the shore.

"Uh... can we go home now?" Vinnie looked in bewilderment at the strong steel chains around his wrists, and the heavy-weighted ball manacled to his right foot.

"Not unless you want to get there in a coffin... take a look outside bros." Throttle pointed through the tiny, barred window of their cell. Out in the square yard below there were three mouse-shaped cardboard cut-outs in the middle of being used for target practice.

"Oh... crap. Umm... a plan would be a really handy thing right now bud... preferably sooner rather than later..." The gentle grey face of the oldest of the trio looked at their leader for inspiration, but finding none he slumped down on the hard surface of the sleeping platform, and buried his head in his hands.

"Sorry bros, I think we're going to have to wait this one out. There must be some reason we were transported here... and I have a sneaking suspicion this delegation thing might have something to do with it." Throttle sighed. Some days he hated being the one in charge. Especially when he had to tell his two closest comrades they had to sit tight and wait and see if they were going to even make if off this rock alive, let alone the planet itself.

* * *

It had been a pretty awful week so far; what with being late for the party conference, having no meaningful land withdrawal to present to his superior and then, worse still, being selected to run against him in the notoriously ill-fated re-election campaign. He was surely doomed, he thought, as no running mate had ever been seen again once they had lost the rigged voting for Plutarkian High Chairman. _Camembert must be more displeased with me than I thought... Oh dear...I'm sushi._

So it was a wonderful surprise for him when he discovered his lowly gift of a junk yard just happened to contain the most infamous pains in the Plutarkian rear-end, the Biker Mice from Mars. _Wow... I never saw that one coming. Play along Limburger, you might just stand a chance now..._

After that little bombshell, the delegate from Earth had quickly risen in the polls, and soon he was tying with the odious oligarch in the race for leadership.

Limburger decided it would be good for his image if he got some evidence of his 'capturing' the Martian motorcyclists. As soon as he was able, he had travelled to the prison island and had himself photographed with the jailed gifts from the junkyard.

"Don't look so shocked, you miserable Martians, you knew eventually this would happen... it's just a pity it took so long."

The gloating figure at the door of their cell was an unwelcome sight, especially as they had just learned the whole sorry reason why they were even here at all.

"Yeah well, I hear that if you lose to that crafty cheese-butt Camembert you're probably going to be joining us in here, worm guts, so don't get too cocky just yet..." Throttle growled at the man on the other side of the steel bars. The memory of being locked in the purple-suited politician's own dungeon was still fresh in his mind, and he sincerely hoped he would get a chance to show him his _heartfelt_ thanks for being treated so well in there.

"What a shame Karbunkle didn't have to guts to finish you off... Pity, you would have looked so good with your head mounted above my fireplace."

"You disgusting, filthy b******!" Modo hadn't had a chance to pummel the despicable duo for torturing his bro to breaking point, both Limburger and Karbunkle had fled the moment they saw him coming. _Cowards, the pair of them_. He wouldn't normally swear, but he was still so very angry at what had happened out there.

"Now, now, you foul-mouthed fur-ball, you better watch what you say. At this rate you won't be getting early release for good behaviour..."

"Early release? Why you stinking pork-rind, you know damn well we ain't ever getting out of here!" Modo continued ranting at the pompous plutocrat, and whilst it felt good to vent off a little frustration, he knew it wasn't going to help their case one bit.

"Finished? Well i'll be off then... I probably won't see you again, not whilst you're still breathing anyway... so ta-ta! Do enjoy your trip to the afterlife, rodents, I hear its _lovely_ this time of year..."

And with that he had left, still enjoying the mixed look of anger and fear he had seen on the Martian's faces as he turned away. _There's no one here to save you now, mice. You've been lucky before, but not this time... Not this time I assure you._

He was right, too. No one even knew they were out there, and even if they did there was no one in the entire galaxy capable of getting them out of this mess.

* * *

The next morning they were woken by the sound of raucous celebration, and the voice of the commentator announcing their new High Chairman... _Lawrence Lactavius Limburger!_ The two guards who were watching the small viewscreen were sniggering, clearly amused by the unexpected outcome of the election. Apparently the impromptu photo shoot had done the doomed delegate the world of good after all.

The three mice eavesdropping from across the cell block were just as equally un-amused by the result.

"Oh man, fish-face leader of Plutark? Can anything get much worse around here?" Even with the gaps in his memory, Vinnie was quite well aware of the implications of such a historic change.

"Oh I dunno bro, old puffer-puss might be even more useless in this new role as he was back on Earth... maybe." Throttle was hoping the fish's winning streak wasn't going to last forever, for Earth's sake as much as their own.

"Umm... I hate to point out the obvious, but I think we've got one other teensy-weensy problem to worry about right now... like say, our own futures..." _Or lack of... oh Moma, here we go again. _Modo had overheard one of the guards saying something about an execution having been arrange for the next morning... _this_ morning as it happened.

However, after a few hours of pacing their cell, it became obvious to the trio that something had come up to delay their early departure from the prison. Throttle had managed to persuade one of the guards to fill them in, which didn't take much; he was positively bursting to tell them when exactly their 'check-out' time was.

"Tomorrow at dawn huh... that's one way to deal with prison overcrowding. Fast tracked outta here..."

Having another day to ponder their fate and wonder at whether or not Limburger was capable of pulling off his election pledge (to take a vast armada of warships to Earth for an invasion, and then to destroy it) was not exactly much comfort to them.

_Oh well, on the bright side it looks like it's going to be quick_... Throttle was happy to take a firing squad over dismemberment any day, and his two friends could not agree more.

* * *

"Karbunkle... what do you mean there's no money? I need money for an invasion, and without an invasion i'm in serious danger of not only losing this chair of office... but i'm going to lose my life as well..." It was a miracle he managed to not shout at the cringing crone delivering him the bad news about the empty treasury coffers. His first day in power and he was already in serious trouble.

"I'm sorry your luscious lordship... the previous High Chairman took some err... liberties with the accounts... and he drained the military funds to zero..." The doctor dodged the paperweight hurling in his direction, and then threw himself behind the office filing cabinet for safety. He knew this news would make his boss extremely angry, which meant that he was the likely target for his ire.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now? When I promised them a war I didn't mean a _civil war_..!

"You could fund the invasion yourself, oh creamy curdled-ness... and erm... repay yourself later when it's your turn to raid the treasury..?"

Limburger really hated paying for anything he didn't have to, especially not to the tune of 20 billion gold gills. He sighed. And giving his moronic henchman Greasepit the task of depositing the cheque made him go a little more than weak at the knees.

Never mind, he thought, whilst the monetary issues were sorted out he could amuse himself in other ways. There was still time for him to witness his arch enemies last moments of life, and if he hurried he might get chance to indulge in watching the preparations for their execution. There were so many perks to this job it was ridiculous, and he wanted to take full advantage whilst he still could.

_Oh well if this all goes bad at least I will still have waved goodbye to those meddling Martian mice... Earth won't be so bad without them three knocking down my tower every five seconds._

* * *

It was an hour before dawn that they were dragged from their cell. There were numerous guards on duty to escort them to the yard – they weren't taking the chance of giving the three mice an opportunity to escape. The prison staff had locked away their weapons knowing full well that the Martian's tails were prehensile, and decided that simply outnumbering their detainees was the best way to go about it.

The three bros struggled against their restraints and the men hauling them away, but despite their obese figures, these particular Plutarkians were really very strong. A sumo wrestler might be a good comparison to these deceptively powerful fish.

"Noo, you can't take me – i'm too good looking to die!"

How the white-furred mouse could still be brimming with ego at a time like this was beyond the understanding of his two bros. They thought perhaps his relative youth might have been a better way to try and get a reprieve.

Throttle and Modo bared their teeth at their rough handling, but said nothing. They weren't giving the gross-smelling guards the satisfaction of hearing them ask for mercy.

Vinnie kept up his long stream of desperate reasoning the entire way to the yard (_Pleeease, don't you know who I am – Vincent van Wham, the greatest motor-jammer in the universe! The reigning motocross champ! The... the..._). He ran out of ideas simply because he couldn't remember all the other awesome things he had done with his life

"Shut up, mouse, we don't care who or what you are, not unless its _dead_."

All the jailors were giggling at the absurdity of the rodent's pleas, but what amused them most was that it didn't make one jot of difference to the finality of his sentence.

"Any last words bro..?" Modo now whispered to his other, tan-furred friend, who was being tied to the wooden post in the yard beside him. Ahead of them a number of Plutarkians with laser-rifles were forming a line, waiting for the order to be given.

"Umm... you remember when I lent you that gadget for the radio back on Mars..."

"Seriously, you still haven't let one go?" The grey mouse rolled his eyes at his friend on his left. "I was kinda thinking of, you know, see you on the other side, or... umm..."

"Yeah, I know bro, I know..." Throttle swallowed back the lump in his throat. He was struggling to even see his two friends through the wetness blurring his vision. "_It's been an honour..._"

Both Vinnie and Modo nodded at their leader. "It's been an honour, bro..."

* * *

It was so tempting to leave it there... but as you wish, part 2 does follow.


	19. Where no mouse has gone before part 2

Not long to go now... how will it all end..? You will have to wait and see... (Umm, this isn't the last story, but you might still need tissues).

* * *

"I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE WITH THEM! YOU TOLD ME THEY WOULD BE HERE, YOU SAID I COULD WATCH, SO WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?"

The furious fish bellowed until he was red in the face (quite a feat considering what he was), he had never been so angry in his life. He had made a special appointment to allow him to be there to witness the final destruction of his rodent rivals, and now he was being told they weren't even here.

"I'm sorry, sir, we were told you wanted them executed right away, and i'm afraid you're too late!" The trembling guard quelled under the rage-filled glare he was being given by his new High Chairman. "I'm really, really sorry, your Head Cheesiness, we thought you would want them disposed of as soon as possible..."

"Yes quite, but I changed my mind. I could have sworn the execution order was for this morning..." _Blast that idiot Greasepit, can't he ever do anything without messing it up?_

"And the bodies...? What have you done with them? I expressly ordered that they be saved so I could have them stuffed and put on display..." The look of fear forming on the young jailer's face told him everything he needed to know. "Let me guess... you were told to get rid of them..."

"Yes sir, like I said, we thought you wanted them disposed of right away!"

"And when you say disposed of..?"

"Umm... we normally throw them over the side..."

By this he meant over the walls of the prison island and into the monster-infested waters of the surrounding pond. The creatures living in the murky pool made Earth Piranhas look like pet goldfish.

"Great, just great. Oh well at least it saves me on the taxidermy fees" (_Robbing b***** mercenaries... Just how expensive is it really to skin a dead body and fill it with fluff?_).

Limburger huffed in annoyance, but as there was nothing he could do about his missing the death of those hatefully heroic hamsters, he had other things to worry about now. Like financing an invasion of Earth.

He flounced out of the prison office and made his way back to the small airship that had brought him to the island. He had got up early that morning for the visit, and despite it being only an hour after sunrise, his day was already not going very well. With such a bad start, he dreaded to think what the rest of it was going to be like.

Limburger was right to be worried. Having the hopelessly moronic Greasepit responsible for ensuring his personal funds were available to finance his armada meant there was bound to be more problems to overcome before the day was out.

* * *

"_This is the base commander... all systems ready, you are clear for take-off."_

The message was relayed to the line of waiting spaceships, and acknowledged by the captain of each in turn. _"Copy that, ready to ignite thrusters" _echoed back down the com-line to the airbase tower at the warship docking facility, and was soon followed by the roaring of jet engines as the colossal fleet of space-going crafts were readied to launch.

Minutes later, the entire armada of Plutarkian sovereignty was airborne and passing through the corrosive atmosphere, out into the dark expanse of space.

At the helm of the mothership one very satisfied soldier smiled indulgently at his fish-led flotilla. Limburger was now attired in full military dress, and was enjoying his new position as commander of the invasion that would finally conquer Earth.

"Excellent... simply excellent, this really is a red letter day. Soon Earth will be dust, and I will be the most revered fish in the entire known universe..."

Somehow his most stupid of super-villains had actually managed to complete a financial transaction without completely messing it up. Greasepit had, for once, whether by pure luck or a trace of unexpected skill, done as he was told and not landed his boss in a huge pile of steaming muck. Limburger's personal Swiss cheese account was considerably lighter, but at least he had covered the huge cost of his election winning pledge.

"Karbunkle... how many ships did I manage to obtain for this mission?"

The scheming scientist was ever present at the new High Chairman's side, having not wanted to miss his own chance to gain fame through notoriety. "The final count was 26 warships, your repulsive royal-ness, and erm... three civilian-led cargo carriers."

"Really? I don't remember ordering those?"

"Yes my lord cheesy chairman... three ships... I do believe we will need supplies for this err... trip, and also will be needing somewhere to load any prisoners..."

"Ah yes... put it like that... Very well dear doctor, just see to it they don't get in the way when it comes to the nitty gritty will you..." Limburger didn't fancy explaining to his new subjects why some of their kind had been pulverized by his own army.

* * *

"Mama, papa... is he..?"

"Shh dear... come away from there right now..."

"But...but..."

"No buts son, I told you it's too dangerous, stay back like I said to..."

_Where am I..? Who is that talking...? Am I... dead?_

It was completely dark, he couldn't see a thing, nor could he move. He couldn't feel anything either, not himself, not his arms or legs or tail, not whatever he might have been lying on or in, or under. For all he knew he was floating out in space, or entombed in a coffin far below the surface of the ground.

_But if i'm buried then how come I can hear their voices?_

That high pitched tone was clearer now, and distinctly childlike. The other voices were sharper too, and somehow vaguely familiar to him.

_I must be dead... maybe these are my family, waiting for me... waiting for me to open my eyes and see their faces once again..._

He tried to lift his eyelids, but they felt heavy on his cheeks... almost as if he were paralysed... but no, he couldn't be... He was starting to feel something...

The numbness in his body was fading, and it wasn't long before his skin was able to detect the world around it; the coolness of the air, the hardness of the surface on which he lay... the biting of metal around his tender joints. And the pressure of the material holding his eyes firmly closed to this world.

They had been taped shut, and so had his muzzle. And so had his tail to his legs. Even now that his body was fully awake, he could not move nor interact with his mysterious new surroundings whatsoever.

Vinnie groaned, and his muffled cry drifted to the ears of the other beings who were there with him.

"But mama... he's awake, shouldn't we..."

"Not now little one... leave him be. It's still a long way to go..."

_Still a long way... to go where? Where am I and where are they taking me?_

The white mouse struggled against his strong restraints, desperate to know the fate of himself and his friends. He could hear heavy footsteps approaching him, and he moaned fretfully behind his gag, afraid of what was going to happen next.

"Shh now... relax, you just have to wait a little longer..." The female voice, maternal, kindly.

_For what... for what? Let me go, pleeease let me go..._

The words were softly spoken, and the voice that carried them soothing and peaceful, trying to calm his frantic straining to get free. They told him to be still, to wait, and not to worry... He didn't understand. Not to worry about what? Was he dead? They had shot him, what more did they want with him? Was this his final journey, to the afterlife?

Then he could feel something cold and sharp pressing into the back of his neck. For a moment he sensed the metal as it pushed against his spine, and nothing more, but the longer it lingered the more the sensation grew. It wasn't so much as cold anymore, but not burning either. Hot.. prickly... almost like the stinging charge of electricity, stimulating his spinal chord...

The thing pressed harder, and the feeling became stronger, overwhelming... _painful_. Vinnie felt his muscles stiffening, and he grunted as the aching throb threatened to take over him completely.

The gentle words kept flowing into his ear, and gradually began to fade away once more, fading as he drifted slowly back down into the darkness.

* * *

"_Earth is in sight, Lord Limburger, we await your command."_

The convoy of cheesy-smelling militia hovered just beyond the range of the blue planet's long-range sensors, and the communication satellites in orbit were now being jammed by the Plutarkian's superior signal-interference technology. No one on the surface would know there was a vast gathering of unfriendly alien life above them; a whole army of fish-like beings on the brink of firing their advanced laser weaponry, so that they could wipe out all resistance before sending down their troops for the following invasion.

They would start with all the major military installations, and then work their way through governmental buildings, any and all emergency service facilities, hospitals, vital infrastructure, telecommunications relays, power generation plants... everything and anything that human life depended on for survival. After that, they would move in and lay claim to every natural resource the planet had to offer... and the people would give it to them with no further confrontation. They would beg them to take anything they wanted, and ask that they spare their precious lives in return.

As a businessman, this would be a fair transaction to Limburger. As a Plutarkian, he had no intention of keeping his end of such a bargain. After what had happened back on Mars, he wasn't going to take the chance of allowing the humans any leeway for negotiation. By the time he was finished here, the verdant paradise where so much glorious life had evolved would be reduced to a mere rock, and no one would want to live there after that.

He would take some prisoners, some humans did show potential after all. A few scientists would be kept for their own purpose, and once they proved to have outlived this usefulness... he would have no further need of them.

This was his plan anyway. This was always his plan, his dream in fact. This was the way of his people; taking what they needed from other advanced civilisations, and some that were less so, replacing the resources that had already been squandered back on his ruined home world.

All he had to do was give the order. One, simple order.

* * *

"Get up, now, quickly, all of you... don't ask questions, don't look back. Whatever happens, _do not look back_..."

Those were the last words of the people who had taken them. That small family, who had been so charmed by their efforts in attempting their native greeting, that when they discovered they were not in fact one of their own in costume, they did not feel anger nor any malice towards them.

They saw on the news that evening the same three bikers whom they had earlier invited to their home, pictured through the bars of their cell, the expression of defiance masking their deepening fear. They recognised that look. They had seen it many times before... far too many times. So many times it shamed them deeply to call themselves Plutarkian.

They knew they could not sit back and do nothing this time. They had to help, and there was a way to do so. A long shot, but worth a try.

He had contacts at the prison. He knew the children of the guards. He was a teacher, and a well-respected one. All it took was a phone call and the arrangements were in place. He needed an extra day, and they would grant him it. Then, as agreed, they would carry out the execution, and then he would take their broken bodies away.

Except, that wasn't quite the whole plan. It was all for show. They had to look like they had done their job; there could be no come back from this, no blame, no person to point fingers at. On camera they would have shot the mice and killed them, and on paper they would have been disposed of in the usual, heartless manner. But in reality the laser rifles had been set to stun, and the three unconscious Martians carried away from that terrible place unmoving, but still very much alive.

It had taken another call to get himself assigned to the ship. His brother was a merchant, and had won a contract to carry supplies for the armada to Earth. He didn't need much persuading to allow the extra cargo to make the journey with him.

And so the small family had packed their bags and taken an impromptu holiday (or so they told their friends), and in their large encasement of luggage, hidden carefully amongst their possessions, were three very precious, very important packages.

They could not take the risk of anyone discovering them, so they had to keep them concealed... and quiet. They kept them drugged for much of the journey, and tightly restrained should they wake up when they weren't expecting. His wife was a nurse, she knew how to care for them, and their young son was curious and wanted to spend his days simply watching, excited every time they moved, anxious every time his mother put them back to sleep again.

It had taken the fleet of ships several days to reach the solar system. And only when that beautiful topaz globe, with it clean, white powder streaks marbling the air came into view, did the man know it was safe to wake his secret stash of furry freight from their long slumber.

They had awoken, their bikes purring beneath their seated bodies, suited in their helmets and armour, ready for action. There had been no need for explanation. They had heard the whispers of the boy in their ears when they had roused, and the anxious murmurs from their hosts as they were anaesthetised once again. And before they had stirred for the last time they had been told exactly where they were, and why.

They knew what they had to do now. They knew there could be no way else. But as the last of the 29 Plutarkian ships had been finally disabled, they looked sadly at the remnants of the humble merchant vessel... before drifting back to the safety of the planet they now called home. They had saved it from destruction, but it was the sacrifice the man had made for them to achieve this that would remind them of this day more than anything. He had been a family man, a father, a husband. He had repaid the terrible debt of his species, and saved their lives... and gave his own to do so.


	20. Diet of worms

Still counting down, and there's only one more to go now folks.

I hope you have enjoyed this series, because I certainly have had fun writing it. I've noticed that whilst there seems to be plenty of people reading, not many of you are saying much, and i'm wondering if I have shocked you good folks into silence? I would love to know what your thoughts are; which was your favourite story, the funniest, the scariest... the most upsetting..? Do you all hate me for what I have done to these wonderful, brave heroes? Is there anything you think I missed, an episode you wanted me to do, or not to have done? Do you want any explanations (i.e. if you missed the original version and something I wrote doesn't make sense) or clarifications? And most importantly... _do you want me to keep on writing_?

Anyway, here is the penultimate story in the series where things go bad, where not everything works out, where the good guys don't always win. It's a little sad, but it's not the end... _not yet_.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

14. Diet of worms.

It was getting really tiring having so many things go wrong. It seemed that lately no matter what they did, and no matter how hard they fought, somehow their enemy managed to get the upper hand... and today, like those days, was one where they simply wondered why they even tried.

Since failing to invade and destroy Earth with his sizeable fleet of Plutarkian warships, their main antagonist had been trying to find another way to win favour with his superiors. Although he, along with many of the others travelling in the militant fleet, had escaped to safety that day, he had not however evaded the ire of his electorate... and was promptly demoted back to his original position down on Earth. The newly reinstated Lord Camembert had told the feckless fish to thank himself lucky he had not been dealt with more harshly. Limburger had returned to his Chicago high rise thoroughly cowed... and utterly disgusted.

_How could those vile vermin have thwarted me yet again?_

But he had soon come up with a new plan, one that would not only repay those resourceful rodents for ruining his dream of supremacy in the solar system, but would put him back on track for the right to claim his authority over Earth... and hopefully get him in the good books of his ever so exacerbated employer.

With a little help from the three Martian mice, everything had fallen into place just nicely. Whilst he had wormed his way into the secret meeting Camembert had been holding with three other Plutarkian bosses on Earth (by replacing Brie, who had been stealthily distracted by a mysterious medical mishap... _Stupid fish really should learn to not take sweets from strangers, especially not ones loaded with poison.._.), he had since had to do little else to find himself with this authoritative advantage.

His lordship had offered the four of them a contest – whoever captured the biker mice would gain the title of Planetary Governor. The mice themselves had been undercover and eavesdropping on their modest gathering, and they had thought a little further deception would put an end to the competition for good, leaving them free to kick Limburger's butt unimpeded by the other three fish who were after them. They had tricked the troublesome trio into nearly destroying each other, before racing off to the tower to have a 'quiet' word with the fourth competitor.

They had not counted on Limburger pre-empting their every move. _Those fur-brains are astonishingly predictable... and right on time too. _

All the fat flounder had had to do was wait for the mice to come after him. As they made their classically destructive entrance though his penthouse window, he had merely pushed the button to his waiting portable transporter beam... and the three unsuspecting Martians found themselves on board Camembert's stench carrier. Limburger had consequently won his prize position as head honcho on Earth.

Now the mice were once again detained by the loathsome race of squandering subjugators, locked in a steel-barred cell on the space craft in Earth's orbit, waiting to see what fate had in store for them... and their second home below.

They felt sure no mistakes would be made this time. There were only so many times they could escape, and only so much luck the three of them could have in the face of defeat. Either they would never leave this ship alive... or they would spend the rest of their days interred somewhere very far away, somewhere where there really was no way out. The last flight to freedom had been a fluke, surely?

"So, um... dare I ask if you have a plan bro?" Modo hated putting pressure on the leader of their group, but if anyone was going to get them out of here it was him.

"You know I was just waiting for you to say that..."

"Well... do you?"

"Uh... well seeing as my last idea was a flop... then nope... i'm open for suggestions though..."

Throttle had tried manipulating the three losing Plutarkian rivals into helping them 'escape' by telling them that their new roles as Limburger's lackeys was going to be a _wonderful_ change of career for them. It had almost worked too. Pity one of the guards had spotted the two-faced flunkies' attempts to sneak in the means for the mice to break out of the cell. It was probably a good thing, in a way... that weird mystical fellow by the name of Gouda had almost let Vinnie get his haphazard hands on a block of plastic explosive.

"Jeez, that key would have been really useful... was that Monterry or Gruyere?"

"Uh... I dunno, they all smell the same to me... Vinnie?"

"You're asking me? I stopped caring the moment you snatched that C4 outta my hands bro..." The white mouse muttered under his breath. If they hadn't have done that they might already be home by now. Gouda hadn't been seen dropping off _his_ explosive parcel.

"Sorry... I just didn't fancy another close encounter with anything quite that destructive..."

Vinnie huffed and turned away from his two friends. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't entirely his own fault that island had been razed to the ground. Not that he was blaming Charley either... she couldn't have known how things would turn out. And she was already shouldering way too much guilt over it as it was.

"So, seeing as you're fresh out of ideas..."

"Jeez bro, you make it sound like..."

"No, no i'm not. We're in this together, it's not all on you - you know we don't expect that of you..."

The gentle grey-furred mouse placed his flesh hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing it a little, resolving the conflict that might have been building in his heart. Throttle put his own hand on top of it, securing their close bond once more.

"Well I guess we've got some time now... I don't know what it is they're going to do, or when, but we aren't going anywhere..."

"Want to play I-spy?"

"I-what?" The two older mice stared incredulously at their bro, wondering where he came up with these things.

"I- oh never mind, it's just something Charley told me about... some game humans play when they're bored or something."

"Talking of Charley-ma'am... think she's ok down there? Think she's wondering where we've gone?" Modo looked at the cell door anxiously. He hated that they might disappear for good and she not know why or where they had gone.

"I'm sure she's fine big fella, she's got Andy and Four-by and that doctor, they will take care of her, you know that..." Throttle was trying his best to hide his own worry for the woman mechanic. She was getting better every day, but she still hadn't fully recovered from the extensive injuries she had sustained in that fateful blast.

"Um... bros... can I ask you something..?" Vinnie had turned around again, and had lifted his small white face up to his two companions, looking at them strangely as if there was something on his mind that he just had to address.

They returned his stare, looking for the joke, the hint of sarcasm, or the blank ignorance they sometimes expected of him. But they saw only curiosity in his searching eyes. Vinnie's sudden desire for a serious conversation was apparently sincere.

"Sure... uh... what is it Vin?"

The white mouse didn't know how to begin. For a few moments he stared at his legs that were crossed beneath him, whilst picking at his gloves with all the nervousness of a small child.

They waited patiently, and then, finally, he spoke.

"Charley and I were talking... you know... about me, and you guys, and our history. I mean, you told me lots back at that junk yard and all... but... I wanted to know more..." he trailed off, the somersaults in his stomach holding him back.

"Uh.. yeah, well that's only natural, we didn't exactly have the time to tell you _everything_, and we were kinda hoping you might remember the rest yourself..." Throttle looked sideways at his other bro, trying to gauge his older friend's reaction to this revelation.

He wasn't giving anything away, but deep inside he knew what was coming, and it terrified him. Modo had been waiting a very long time for Vinnie to ask them this question, and he wasn't going to have to for much longer.

"Go on... spit it out Vinnie, this might be the last chance you get." Modo didn't mean to be so blunt, and from the spluttering his two friends were giving he realised he had perhaps been a little too harsh about their current predicament. "Uh... you know what I mean... come on bro, I know there's something you want to say."

Vinnie took a deep breath. This was unfamiliar territory for him... he had never been so afraid to ask his two best friends anything before, and he sensed he was entering a danger zone that he might never be able to come back from.

"Charley told me what happened two years ago. She was... she was upset. I asked her why I made her so sad, and she told me. She... she said... she said we got close... very, very close... and that she missed it..." Vinnie paused, pearls of fluid were beading around the corners of his eyes as he spoke, which then ran off his pointed little snout when he continued.

"She was crying... she said ever since I woke up from that coma I was different. She understood though, she said... umm... I was damaged, in the head... she was just glad I was alive, but she never expected it to be so hard." He shook his head, the feeling of hopeless misery apparent on his soft, furry face. "Will I ever be what she wants me to be bros... will I ever be the same again?"

The last words were whispered, but his two friends could hear the pain behind them. They felt so sorry for their young friend. Despite his annoying bravado and incessantly overblown ego, he had still had potential... and he had sacrificed that all so selflessly to get Modo a new arm, it was devastating to see him now mourning his loss.

"Bro.. we... we don't know what to say... we still have hope, you know... you can still be you, you just got a few memories missing is all. We can help you with that, it don't change who you are underneath." Now Modo was struggling to hold back his emotions. Guilt was a very powerful thing, and nothing would absolve him of the remorse he carried for his part in effectively ruining his bro's life.

"Yeah man, don't worry, a few lost memories is nothing compared to your life. You are still you, the conceited yet courageous daredevil with more guts than any one we know. That hasn't changed, and you know it bro."

Vinnie looked up at his tan-furred leader, wishing that he didn't conceal his feelings with those thick-rimmed specs. He wanted to look into his bro's eyes and see if he really meant what he had just said.

But there was no way he was asking him to open his soul to him. Not yet anyway. He needed a few more calming breaths for that.

The two older Martians could sense he wasn't finished, and sat down beside him in the cell, waiting for him to continue.

"Charley... she... I said she told me what happened two years ago. She told me everything she knew. She said she didn't know... she said I had to ask you... about... you know... the rest..."

"The rest...?" Throttle and Modo exchanged looks again, both sharply inhaling as their closest comrade finally broached the dreaded question.

"Yeah..." Vinnie gulped, it was too late now, he couldn't take it back. "What happened to you _in the pits_..?"

His query was so earnest, so innocent, and so full of apprehension, the words that were barely above a murmur still reached their ears and punched straight through their hearts and directly to their stirring stomachs.

It was quite a while before anyone said anything. The placid, paternal figure that was Modo knew it would have to be him that answered. His tan-furred companion through that terrible period was shaking just at the mention of the word 'pits', and there was no way he was going to be able to deal with talking about it, let alone remembering it in all its gruesome glory. Both of them had buried the dreadful images of their appalling abduction deep inside the recesses of their subconscious, not ever wishing to have to dig them out again.

But it had only been a matter of time before it happened. He was going to have to tell their friend, it was his right to know and he could not deny him it – not after everything he had done for them. For _him_.

"Before I say anything... Throttle, are you ok with this? If not... or if at any point you want me to stop..."

"No.. just do it... I... i'll be ok..." He turned away, and shuffled himself to the other end of their small prison. He curled himself up into a ball, pressing his hands over his ears, not wanting to face his two friends as the darkest moments of his life were brought back to the surface.

Vinnie hardly made a sound as Modo talked. Every word that came out of his mouth was accompanied by emotion, and every emotion was reflected on the face that bore the terrible memories. Vinnie could see and hear everything. The reflections of those days were so well described it was clear to him the pictures were still very vivid in his bro's mind, and still so very raw in his heart. So vivid and raw in fact he could almost feel it himself.

By the time he had finished the sordid tale, Modo was hoarse in the throat, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

"Oh man..." The white mouse was in shock. It was a very sorry story indeed. "Oh... man... oh... man... bros..."

Modo shook his head, he couldn't say any more.

"Show me..."

The single red eye widened, he hadn't expected his bro to want to know more.

"You have to bro... I have to know... this is too important..."

The grey head nodded slowly, but the look of trepidation and sadness on his face as he closed that staring eye was unmistakeable. Vinnie pressed his glowing antennae to those of his comrade, whilst holding tightly to the trembling flesh hand below. It only took seconds. Vinnie had seen everything that his gentle, giant friend had seen, felt everything he had felt, experienced everything he had experienced. It was so awful that when he broke the connection he had to fight hard to not be violently sick.

Vinnie hadn't known about the humiliation they had been forced to endure, nor the torture, nor the abuse. He hadn't known how terrible it had been for them to be separated from each other's touch, kept apart when they needed the feel of another, when they desperately wanted to know they weren't alone in their suffering. He hadn't known how exhausting the work had been, how tiring to be allowed hardly any sleep, how draining to be starved of food and water, and light, and kindliness. He didn't know the level of cruelty they had been subjected to for nearly six whole months, so much so that it had broken them both, and that they had eventually wished for death.

And he hadn't known just how grateful they were to the mouse who had come to their rescue, the mouse who had saved them from their misery, and brought them back from the brink of losing their lives down there in the darkness. He hadn't known just how much his two closest friends and comrades, his companions... _brothers_... had loved him for what he had done for them. _Still_ loved him.

But now he did. And he was so overwhelmed by that he turned back to the one who had opened his heart and soul to him, and hugged him tight. "I'm so sorry bro... for you both... but we're together now, and nothing will ever again keep us apart. _Nothing_..."

* * *

It had been decided that they would send a warning first. A taste of their intentions. A signal of the sheer power at their fingertips. They would fire the Planetary Pulveriser at Chicago, and once it had been wiped from the face of the Earth, they would open up communications with the vulnerable human governments, and offer them their one and only chance to save themselves from extinction.

Either they surrendered to Plutarkian rule, or they were destroyed along with the rest of their planet.

Lord Camembert was extremely excited. The weapon was in his control, and he was quite happy with either outcome. If the humans subjugated themselves to him, that was good, there were plenty of resources to still take from this place. And if they refused, he was quite happy to just blow it to smithereens and seek his fortunes elsewhere.

But what really, really trilled the pompous leader of the Plutarkian home world was the thought that he was going to have an audience. He had decided that before he sent the captives on his ship to some prison in the middle of nowhere with all the other annoying Martian's he had sequestered, he was going to give them one last look at their beloved hiding place, their second home. He was going to give them a front row seat as he smashed the city where they had dwelled to tiny pieces, and, if it came to it, they would get to see the rest of the blue planet follow suit.

_I simply cannot wait to see the look on their faces... from what I hear they actually have friends down there somewhere. Too bad for them._

The weapon of seriously mass destruction was already primed and ready to fire. He didn't trust that incompetent idiot Limburger to go anywhere near it, so he had sent him to the bridge to watch the action from there. He wasn't having him screw this up for him, not this time.

_It should have been Brie up here... but at least he did get those rambunctious rats for me. Oh what fun this is going to be..._

"Guards, bring me the prisoners, the show is just about to start."

"Yes sir, umm... do you want them awake?" The guard's weren't dumb enough to assume anything. Camembert was famous for changing his mind and then blaming his subordinates for not keeping up with him. And he was lavish with his inventively imaginative punishments too.

"Yes, awake... although perhaps it would be wise to make use of that wonderful drug that strange side-kick of Limburger's likes so much..."

"As you wish your Lord High Cheesiness, right away."

Camembert sat back in his throne-like chair, with a comfortable smugness on his plump, green face. The only thing the Chicago-based moron had ever done right was hiring that malformed medic to do his dirty work. Karbunkle's paralytic was undoubtedly the best weapon they now had against the Martian mice, and when this was over he fully intended to use it to conclude his dealings with Mars once and for all.

Half an hour later, three limp fur-covered bodies were hauled into the control room of the large and intimidating weapon.

"Put them over there, I want them to be able to see _everything._.."

Camembert was practically dancing with expectant glee. He pressed a button to activate the viewing screen, and the satellite image of Chicago was brought up for them all to see.

"Ah yes... how do I... that's right..." The fetid felon jiggled a small joystick around, and soon the picture had zoomed and refocused... and now showed a bird's eye view of one very familiar-looking building.

It was a small, square-shaped rooftop, with a yard to the rear. If he had had another camera angle, it would have clearly shown the lettering on the front of the modest dwelling. It would have said 'Last Chance Garage' quite clearly on the screen they were staring at. But the mice didn't need another angle to know where exactly they were being shown.

_Noo... not there... please... Chaaaaarleeey!_

The High Chairman was watching the mice, searching their expressions for signs that they had realised what they were about to watch. He had asked the demented doctor for a dosage that would keep his captive audience unable to tear themselves away from the viewing, but would still allow them just enough movement to show their feelings on their furry faces. And the doc had got it just right.

Modo, Throttle and Vinnie were wide-eyed. Horrified. And no, they could not look away.

"Enjoying the show over there mice? Ha, yes.. I thought you might. Let's see what you think of this next scene..."

And with that he pressed the button on his controller, and a red light began blinking on the weapon. Blinking with its timer, counting down from ten.

"Three... two... one... zero...!" The delighted despot howled with laughter as the giant laser fired its awesome beam at the Earth city. Seconds later the picture on the screen registered the total annihilation of the tiny garage. Now there was just a crater. Nothing was left of where they had spent the past few years, the home of their friend, the workshop full of her inventions... the building they had come to love like their own. It was all gone.

_Nooooo, nooooooo, noooooo...! CHAAAARLEEEEY!_

The despicable dictator clapped his webbed hands in joyful satisfaction. The three mice by contrast were unmoving and full of woe.

"Are those tears I see in your eyes, rodents? Are you crying? Poor you... it doesn't pay to have feelings for another alien species you know... not ones as weak at this."

If he could have moved, Modo would have shoved the wicked weapon down the maddening monsters throat.

If he could have moved, Throttle would have ripped his scaly limbs from his body and thrown him from the ship.

If he could have moved... Vinnie would have curled up on the floor and wept until his heart gave out in grief.

Sensing the change in mood, Camembert decided the immobile inmates needed a distraction. He toggled with the satellite image again, focusing in on somewhere else he had discovered was important to them. Soon the image had moved again, and now the oval pitch of Quigley stadium, and the slender outline of its scoreboard filled the perilous picture.

_YOU MONSTER! YOU VILE, VICIOUS MONSTER! NOOOOOOO!_

If their thoughts could manifest in the physical world, the chuckling chief of the most evil race of beings in the entire cosmos would almost certainly be dead.

But they couldn't, and moments later their other hideaway, their other home, was decimated by the powerful force of the gigantic laser.

"Oh well, I guess I had better start the negotiations now..." As far as Camembert was concerned, this bit was not only tediously boring, but probably wildly unnecessary.

As he fiddled about with the telecommunications device that would connect him to the frantic human governments down on the planet, three dismayed faces were trying to come to terms with what they had just been forced to witness. For one of them at least it didn't seem to have fully registered. Vinnie was so aghast, so shocked... he wasn't even sure he really believed it had happened.

_This has got to be some kind of dream... a sick dream... a nightmare... someone wake me up... please let me just wake up._

It wasn't a dream, and he wasn't going to wake up. But that didn't stop him thinking it over and over and over again. Minutes ticked by. Camembert was still messing around with wires and microphones. Throttle and Modo were both inconsolable and outraged at the same time. But Vinnie didn't notice. He kept up his fervent mental requests for himself to simply just wake up.

And then he did. Sort of.

He didn't even realise he had just moved his arm. He didn't comprehend the motion in his legs, the rising of his torso, the lifting of his right arm. He didn't perceive that his body was no longer fixed in one position, and that he was walking over to the back of the beast that had just wiped out the things he knew and loved. The one who had taken everything from him. His family, his friends, his home planet, and now this place; his adopted home, with his second family, and his human friend... who he cared for so, so much. He wasn't going to let him take anymore.

Vinnie raised his fist, and planted it into the skull in front of him, flooring its owner with one single, powerful punch.

And then, as if in some sort of trance, the mouse took out the rest of his anger on the large laser pistol lying dormant in the room with him.

After that, he sleepwalked out of the control room, down the empty corridor, and broke into the storage locker containing their Martian bikes.

No one even realised what was happening until it was too late, but as that white mouse carried his two paralysed friends onto their waiting vehicles, and rode with them into the ships transporter, an alarm sounded in the lower deck of the doomed ship.

He had set the Planetary Pulveriser to self-destruct.

He watched the greatest show he had ever seen from the top of Limburger tower. The ship and its contents dissolved in a giant ball of flames, and although he knew the others on board would have probably escaped, it still felt good. For a moment, anyway.

He looked around the city skyline at the other evidence of the destruction he had seen. He no longer felt that euphoric feeling. He felt very, very bad. He slumped forward onto his red racing bike, and broke down sobbing. Heart wrenching sobs. Cries of anguish that were probably audible for miles around. So far in fact, it seemed someone had actually heard him.

"_Vinnie? Is that you up there?"_

"Huh... who... where...?" In his confusion he didn't realise the voice had come from his bike's radio.

"_Vinnie, you idiot, it's me. Care to tell me why my garage is in a million pieces and you are up there bawling your eyes out?"_

"Ch...Charley..? YOU'RE ALIVE? OH WOW YOUR ALIVE! SWEETHEART!"

"_Get your butts down here this minute and explain yourselves RIGHT NOW!"_

Vinnie didn't hesitate. _Oh man she is so **hot** when she's mad._

The moment he saw the fuming female he threw his velvet-furred arms around her, and buried his wet muzzle into her long, auburn hair. "I'm so sorry Charley-girl, we couldn't stop them... we tried... i'm so sorry... i'm so glad you're alive..."

The surprised woman cradled his head on her shoulder, softening a little as she saw just how upset and relieved he was. She also noticed just how quiet the other two mice were... and instantly recognised the signature of Karbunkle's favourite drug.

"It's alright, shhh... everything's ok now... i'm ok, you're ok..."

"But.. but... the garage.. the scoreboard..."

"Yeah, alright, so we got nowhere to live for a while, but we'll fix it don't worry..."

"But how... you're not dead, you're not blown up...?"

"Not this time huh... A girl's gotta go shopping sometime..." _Thank god_.

"Charley...?"

"Yeah Vinnie... I know you tried, it's alright i'm not mad..."

"I love you Charley-girl."

She was taken aback by the sudden statement, but she knew he wasn't lying. She knew this had come from his heart, and that it was earnest to his very core.

"I know, I know you do Vinnie, I know..."

She pulled him closer to her, kissing the top of his white-furred head, and added her own tears to his dampened fur. Even when all else is lost, she thought, there's still something that can never been taken away from them. Their bros, their friends, and their unbreakable bond with one another _no matter what_.


	21. Once upon a time on Mars

Before I say anything else, I just want to thank everyone who had read and reviewed this series, I really hope it met all your expectations.

Anyway here it is, the final story, the finale, the end of the alternative endings. Before I even finished chapter one I knew how I was going to do this, and I have been so nervous and yet so excited about doing it. My heart was racing the whole time I typed, and for the same reason this is why you have been getting updates on average every other day or so since I started. I couldn't wait to get to the end, lol. So here it is. The End.

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong

15. Once upon a time on Mars.

"I'm sorry Charley-girl I gotta put this story on hold for a while – i'm using precious air as it is."

The maze of underground tunnels the three mice and their human friend were trapped in was not only oppressively dark, but seriously lacking in ventilation. The air inside these subterranean passageways was stale and unmoving, indicating that their chances of finding an opening to the world above them was slim at best. They had been down here now for several hours, searching fruitlessly for a means of escape, using up the meagre supply of oxygen available to them and replacing it with the deadly exhaled gases their own bodies were supplying.

To make matters worse, their only source of light was the tiny glowing orbs from the ignited ends of four expanded flares. These were barely staying lit; combustion requires oxygen and there was hardly any to spare here for the fuel within the sticks.

Throttle rubbed his head with his free hand. The throbbing within his skull was getting more noticeable, and more distracting. He had spent quite a while now talking and his mouth was very dry, adding to the discomfort building in his temple from the declining air quality. This headache was probably the worst he had had in quite a long time.

"Uh bro..."

"What is it Vin, I really need to concentrate right now..."

The white mouse had stopped walking, and he was bent over, resting his hands on the tops of his legs, panting slightly as he took a moment to rest.

"Just need a minute... wait will you?"

They all needed a break. It was tiring work walking around in near darkness with no idea where they were going, or how long they would last down there. They hadn't stopped yet simply because they felt the urgency of their situation, and that the longer they were in those tunnels the less chance they had of ever getting out.

After a few minutes Vinnie was ready to move on. He straightened up purposefully, expecting his companions to do the same.

"Erm... you guys alright?" He looked at the three faces of his friends, the flickering glow of the flares casting shadows dancing over them and their surroundings. He could just about see that they were as exhausted as he was.

The grey mouse groaned and lay back on the rocky passage floor. "Just another minute bro... my head's pounding like a killer meteorite shower..."

Vinnie knew how he felt. He wanted to lie down and take a nap too, but something inside him told him that if he allowed his body the chance, he might not get back up again.

"Com'on Modo, it's not much further i'm sure... uh... is it Throttle? Is it much further..?"

There was no answer, and a small surge of panic went through the white-furred mouse. "Throttle?"

"Urgh... I sure hope not..." He finally spoke, the lack of moisture on his tongue making it the last thing he really wanted to have to do right now.

The tan mouse was also on his back, staring up at the stone roof of the passage, taking in the details of where the rock had been carved away. He couldn't really see that much, it was too dark to allow him to focus that well, but he did wonder. _How come some parts are smooth... and the rest are rough and... _ He couldn't take make the leap, his mind was too dulled for such thoughts.

But something else was easier for him to comprehend. As his eyes roamed over the cavern's surface above him, he noticed a change. Something different. _Is that... sunlight?_

Suddenly Throttle was on his feet and throwing himself at a steep, scree-covered slope in front of him. "This is it, this is our way out, come on bros, Charley – this is our ticket outta here!"

Soon the four of them were scrambling upwards, all seeing the tiny point of light filtering through the aperture in the ceiling over their heads. A weak point, a breach in the surface. An entranceway that had been concealed from all above and below.

They had to reach it, they had to get to it before it was too late. All of them groaned as their oxygen-starved muscles complained at the hard climb, but they forced themselves to ignore the pain and pushed themselves to their physical limits, trying to reach the only exit in the entire system of burrows they had found themselves locked in.

It had all started early that morning. They had heard some disturbing chatter on the secret communications channel they sometimes listened in on. Something about a machine buried under the city. Something worryingly familiar that threatened to change their lives, and the world on which they resided, in a way that was definitely not for the better. They couldn't ignore it. Half an hour later they were in a small woodland park on the edge of town, investigating what seemed like a rather undisturbed piece of land, quite unlike what they were expecting. Normally any Plutarkian interference was punctuated by deep craters and a really nasty, lingering smell.

Then, unexpectedly, four metal jaws had pushed their way out from the ground beneath them, swallowing the mice and their human companion into the belly of a steel cage, which then sunk back down into where it had emerged. The earthy ground settled back to its original position as if nothing had even disturbed it, and thus as the confined heroes plummeted into the depths below the soil, their bikes were left on the grassy turf alone, and unable to follow.

They had hurtled downwards, their breakfasts being forced into their mouths in protest at the rapid vertical descent, their stomachs churning as they waited to for the inevitable impact. It never came, though, because just before the enclosure crashed down into the pool of molten rock it was heading for, two strong grappling lines fired from its corners and secured the plunging pen to the stone walls of the deep pit, inches from its target.

From where they lay, gasping at the force of their sudden stop, they could see the mysterious machine in almost all its alarming entirety. A Plutarkian Tug Transformer, bolted deep into the crust of the North American tectonic plate, well below the prying eyes of anyone who might want to put a stop to its terrifying purpose. This thing was meant for the worst kind of destruction a planet could endure. Being ripped from its orbit around its native star and dragged billions of miles away, finally becoming another moon in the fattened belt of rocky worlds around the ruined wasteland of Plutark. The ultimate in enslavement of an entire race of beings.

Of course human beings had no idea of even the existence of such a powerful piece of machinery. Most didn't even know that Plutark existed, let alone any life beyond the skies of the life-rich blue planet on which they lived. But there was somebody that did know. Three somebodies. Three mice from the planet Mars, whom had seen this very contraption once before; years ago when it had threatened to take their own planet from its birthplace, along with them and everyone else who had fought long and hard to save it.

The giant structure was emitting an electromagnet charge from its power source, effectively disabling all their laser weaponry. They were powerless to do anything about the impending doom this thing was threatening all with, and below them Limburger was smugly gloating that he was finally about to achieve what his predecessor on Mars had failed to do. That insufferably self-satisfied Stilton would finally be put in his place after this little ingenious enterprise, he thought.

Whilst the fat fish was warbling on about how amazing he was, and how he had triumphed over the bothersome bikers and their mechanically-minded human friend, those imperilled prisoners dangling over the boiling pool of instant death were actually hatching their own plan of action. Charley was using parts from their laser pistols to shield Modo's arm cannon from the transformer's energy field. As she worked the three mice blocked her from the villain's view, and filled her in on the history behind such a horrifying hotbed of catastrophe.

Even after they successfully blasted their way out of the cage, then out of the grasping arms of the goons (who were armed with non-laser firing weapons) and into the black, airless tunnels that they had sealed behind them, Throttle continued the tale of the dreadful, drawn-out war back on the red planet.

Charley listened in awe and sorrow as he described the origins of Modo's robotic arm, and of Vinnie's metal-masked face. And of his own weakened vision concealed behind his specially designed, black-rimmed, green-lensed glasses. Of Karbunkle's evil experiments to make them into bionic slaves, and of him turning the leader of the Freedom Fighters, Stoker, against the mice to fight for the glory of Plutark. He had just finished telling her how they overcame their appalling injuries sustained in an ill-fated ambush, and later still at the mad doctors hands when they were subsequently captured, when he had to stop talking to save himself from running out of air.

But now they were almost at that little operculum promising them freedom, and at any moment they would breach the surface once again, breathing in deeply the sweet life-giving atmosphere above, rejuvenating their worn out bodies so that they could resume their final battle to save the Earth.

"Nearly there bros... nearly... th- aaaargh!"

One wrong foothold, and the mouse had slipped. He smacked into the others who were ascending behind him, and together they slid down the rough, gravelly slope, gathering speed as they fell...

Somewhere on the surface three Martian motorcycles had detected the muffled voices of their owners. Their sophisticated AI registered not only the underground position that the sounds had emanated from, but allowed them to recognise what those particular, fearful cries signified. _Their owners were in trouble_. _They had to save them_.

Just as the Charley and the three mice were about to connect with the hard ground, a loud blast from above, followed by a deep vibrating rumble, brought to them the welcoming sound of saviour. The three bikes roared downwards, rocketing as fast as they could so that they could slip under the falling bodies, and protect them from the deadly force of impact that awaited them.

"Wow... sweetheart that was awesome timing!" Vinnie hugged his red racer he was now straddling, caressing the control panel to the intelligence systems lovingly, thanking everything he knew that their bikes were Martian made.

"Yeah, phewee that was too close, great job Lil' Hoss." The grey mouse was equally impressed with his own ride, and went on to promise her some seriously tender loving care when they got home again.

"Yeah, that was far too close. But there's no time to lose bros, we got a fat fish to fry and an entire planet to save, and we've taken too long as it is down here." Throttle patted his own black and chrome bike a few times despite his words, before kicking it into gear and speeding off back down the tunnel they had wandered, and back to the metallic menace under Limburger's control.

"But what happened back on Mars? How did you stop the tug thing last time you saw one?"

Charley was eager to know. Her home was close to being relocated to the other end of the galaxy, and she wanted to be damn sure her furry friends knew exactly what they were doing.

Throttle continued the story as they rode, describing the final moments when they had encountered the Plutarkian invention that would have irreversibly ruined their lives, and stolen their futures as a free nation. The thing had three bolts anchoring it to the ground... a significant weak point, especially considering the machine was meant to haul an entire world away from the incredible force of gravity holding it in place by the sun. This was what they were aiming for, as they had done so years ago. Three targets was all that stood in their way from saving Earth, the second attempt by Plutark to claim a piece of the solar system for its own.

_Let's hope those scaly scroungers are dumb enough to have not improved on the design._

"Look, there it is – dead ahead bros!" Vinnie had just blasted away the debris they had left in the wake of their earlier escape, and once again they were in the awesome presence of the pulsating, planet-stealing powerhouse. The Tug Transformer was active, and its timer was already counting down.

"Oh moma – Throttle this thing's about to go, what's the call?"

"Just like last time big fella, take a bolt each bros – let's make sure this thing goes home without the rest of us in tow!"

This was it, this was the final moment. Throttle's place as leader had seen them through this far, and if he succeeded in his role now they would be rid of the greatest threat they had ever come up against. "Fire your ropes boys, those things just need unscrewing and we're home free!"

It appeared the Plutarkians had not learnt from last time. There were still only three attachments, and the mice were making short work of the paltry bits of metal holding each of them to the plate's crust.

Limburger and his henchmen had retreated to a safe distance from the transformer as it powered up, but now he realised his own moment of glory was slowly slipping away from him.

"Stop them! Stop those rotten rodents from disabling my machine! NOOOOOO!"

On the vid-com screen above him, Stilton was laughing heartily at the inevitable failure of his useless associate. _That'll teach that incompetent backstabber to show off, he's no better at dealing with Martian mice now than he was on Mars. _He still hadn't forgiven Limburger for his insubordination, and his subsequent underhanded dealings to gain a rise to equal rank as he. Never mind, he thought, now all of Plutark knows he is a pathetic loser, incapable of anything except being defeated by those annoying Martian rebels.

The masked figure watched in despair as the three biker mice almost effortlessly detached the Tug Transformer from its moorings. A second later the timer reached zero, and Limburger howled in fury and fear as the thing pulled itself upwards and out of the hidden chamber.

The chortling Stilton was replaced by a very angry Lord Camembert. His green face was blotched with red, and the odious oligarch erupted with the near apoplectic wrath that he had saved especially for the purple-suited moron cringing before him. "**LIMBURGER**!"

The view screen was filled with interference. The floundering fish couldn't be sure if it was their end or his (Camembert appeared distracted, muttering in horror that a Tug Transformer had just been spotted in a collision trajectory with Plutark...), but he did know that if he didn't get a move on he was going to be flattened himself. The ceiling of the immense cavern was crumbling around him, his goons were already abandoning the place on their little four-wheel buggies, and Karbunkle and Greasepit were tugging at his arms trying to get him to do the same. But he just stood there, his mouth agape, the realisation that even if he survived this he surely would not do so for much longer. _What's the point..? They're going to hang me for this one... or else i'll be the laughing stock of the entire Pisces nebula... It's over... it's all over..._

The brave bikers did not spare a thought for the fate of their nemesis. They fled that cavern on their high-velocity vehicles, speeding down the tunnels as they began to collapse behind them, concentrating only on their own survival, and not of the damned deviant and his two sycophant side-kicks trapped back there in the fragmenting rock.

As far as they were concerned, Limburger had had his chance. If he was willing to try to wreck their homes and their lives, that was his choice – but it was up to him to pay the price when it all went horribly wrong.

Three Martian motorcycles wove their way through the falling chunks of stone and soil, darting left and right to avoid near-misses with the crushing lumps, slowing when a passage caved in ahead of them, accelerating again when they blew open a way through with their laser cannons. Now that the awful machine had gone, its laser-numbing electromagnetic field had vanished with it, and all their weapons were in prime working order once more. Lucky for them. They needed all the fire-power they could muster to get them out of the collapsing cave-system in one piece.

Finally they found the open hole to the world above, the one they had climbed to earlier, the one the bikes themselves had widened to reach their owners before they plunged to their deaths.

"Fire jets – we're almost there!" Throttle's elation at the sight of the sun above them lifted his soul just as his bike lifted his body. Seconds later they were topside and flopping down onto the soft grass to enjoy their final victory.

"Wow, oh wow, we made it, we really made it!"

"Oh moma did we just defeat Limburger? We just defeated Limburger!"

"Great job bros, great job bikes... oh man what a day..!"

They were exhausted. The adrenalin was waning from their bodies, and the most they could do was lie there panting for a while, and wait for the energy to get up and celebrate in a more raucous, more macho dance of exultant glee.

They were all laughing. It was the most wonderful moment in their entire lives. They had taken out the Tug Transformer. They had stopped Earth being pulled away to the dreadful destination on the edge of the galaxy. They had defeated Limburger, and quite possibly done some serious damage to the fish's home world in the process.

The laughter went on for some time. They all lay there, eyes closed, imagining the face of their life-long enemy as his plan had fallen to pieces. It was priceless. A picture-perfect moment in their book of good against evil.

After a while the laughter died down, and their amusement slowly faded. Something was missing from this celebration. Something quite important...

They were all hungry and thirsty, and sore. But it wasn't food and drink nor medical attention they were missing. It was something much more vital to this party than any of that.

It was a voice. There was a voice missing from the laughter. The distinctly feminine tones of that soft, delicate giggle they all adored. Why wasn't she joining in..?

"Charley...? Charley-ma'am are you alright?" The absence of her signature chuckles had sunk through to the grey-furred mouse, and he opened his eyes to find the cause of her silence. "Charley-ma'am? What's...?"

_Oh no... oh no, oh no, oh no..._

"BROS! GET UP! CHARLEY'S GONE!" Modo was frantic now. He had hauled himself onto his feet and was scrambling around them looking for any signs of their human friend.

"Charley-girl? Charley where are you?" The white-furred mouse scanned the spot beside him and his bike in confusion. _I'm sure she was right behind me... she was right there, holding on... how come she's not there now?_

Throttle was thinking the same thing. "Vincent, where is she? You had her last, she was on your bike with you... what happened? Did you lose her?"

"I... I... I dunno, I swear she was there when we left the Tug... I swear bro I swear!" Vinnie was panicking. If Charley had somehow fallen off his bike as they fled the tunnels... she might be trapped down there still... she might even be...

"Quickly, we gotta go back, she's still down there, DON'T JUST STAND THERE DO SOMETHING!"

All three mice were rushing to pull the rocks free from the hole they had just exited from. But they were tired, and their bodies were aching from the first fall in the steel cage, not to mention from all the bits of stone that had battered them during their escape.

"Bikes – bikes we need your help – we need...err... bikes?"

The Martian motorcycles had taken heavy damage getting them out of the imploding passageways, and had only just made it to the surface before they also ran out of fuel. They had nothing left to give, and stood there on the grassy bank quite unresponsive.

"Uh... guess we gotta do this ourselves then... Fire your laser pistols bros, it's all we've got.." _Oh god let it be enough... hang on down there Charley, we're coming for you..._

Modo's arm cannon was their best chance; the weaponry Karbunkle had installed into the metal limb was far more powerful than their smaller, hand-held Martian guns. And despite being in less than top condition, he was still the strongest of the three of them. He blasted and hauled the biggest boulders out of their path, whilst his two smaller comrades cleared the less sizeable bits of debris.

"Oh Moma, I hope she's alright... If she's hurt... if..."

"Easy big fella, easy... she's tough, and she's not stupid. If she came off Vinnie's bike she's not going to have sat around waiting to be buried under a ton of rubble..." Throttle tried his hardest to sound optimistic, especially when he could see how upset his two bros were. Vinnie was practically tearing his finger nails out in his attempts to dig through to the missing mechanic.

"Charley! Charley where are you?" The white mouse yanked free another hefty stone block, revealing an empty space below. He didn't even wait for his bros... he _couldn't_ wait. He wasn't ready to lose her, not now... not now he realised just how he felt about her... how much he now knew he actually loved her.

"Vinnie!" The strong grey mouse widened the hole so he could follow, and dropped into the open section of tunnel where his bro had gone. Throttle was right behind him.

"Oh man... it's going to take us ages to clear all that." The tan mouse looked at the mass of soil and rock that had filled the passageway behind them as they fled. The situation was dire. There was no way they could do this themselves... but there was no way they could leave her under there for long either.

"Charley... noooo..." Vinnie wasn't going to stop. Through his choking sobs he kept on digging, grabbing the stones blocking their way and yanking them out, not realising that his efforts might bring the place crashing down around them.

"Vincent stop – there's nothing you can do, we need to do this right or we might make this whole mess worse." The white mouse was ignoring him, and carried on his fervent scrabbling. "Vincent STOP!"

Throttle grabbed his bro and pulled him back, but the mouse fought him off and went back to his dangerous excavations. Modo joined his tan friend in his second attempt, and soon the smaller, dirt and blood covered mouse was in his arms, crying inconsolably.

"Shh, bro, it's alright... we just gotta go get some help is all.. Maybe we just need to refuel our bikes so they can help us blast this hunk of junk away. Don't do this by yourself, you know it isn't getting us anywhere."

"Yeah Vin-man, Charley's going to be alright, it won't take us long, just a few repairs then we'll be back..." Secretly Throttle was wondering how they would achieve this without the help of the mechanical wonder who they were trying to save.

"You promise bro?" Vinnie pulled away, looking up at the hole above, a glimmer of hope now in his eyes.

"Biker's honour... Come on, the sooner we get back the garage and fix our rides, the sooner we can get back here and rescue Charley."

"Yeah bud, she's gunna be real mad if she finds out you were trying to be Mr Ego and do this by yourself, just coz it makes you look good." Modo was trying to make a joke of it, even though he felt he too would rather not leave the woman down here on her own. Not after what happened on the island. He had hated leaving her then, but at least there was a whole rescue operation to make sure she was getting off there... No one else knew about this particular 'little' disaster.

Vinnie sniffed, but nodded. It made sense. He rubbed his tear-socked face, and turned to look back at his two bros who were still barring him from the blockage. He had a new purpose now. The garage wasn't far, one of them could easily run there to get fuel for the bikes, then they could get them fixed up and ready to mine the rocky tunnel, and bore a hole through to their missing friend. To his friend... his closest companion of all. _Hold on Charley, we've got a plan... we're coming back... we're..._

Whatever he was thinking trailed off and was lost in a new distraction. He was gazing at the faces of his two bros, but they were not looking at him at all. They were staring at the undamaged end of the tunnel behind him, and their furry muzzles were hanging open. Gaping even. Modo's right eye was wide and dilated, and his fists were clenched tightly by his sides. Throttle was breathing heavily, his chest was rising and falling in shuddering gasps, but otherwise he was apparently frozen to the spot.

"Bros...? What's wrong..?" Vinnie couldn't understand it. A second ago they were ready to jump him if he even dared take a step towards the pile of ruined rock behind them. Now it was if they were completely ignoring him. As if they had almost forgotten he was even there.

"Bros... ? Uh... helloooo...? Charley? We got to go..."

_What the hell are they looking at... coz it sure ain't me? _

The little white shout bent round over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of his long tail, the tip of which was twitching in anxiety, flickering agitatedly as was his pounding heart. That adrenalin was surging through him once again, preparing him for action.

His head turned further. There was definitely something behind him in the passage.

Not something. Someone.

_Oh... _

Throttle and Modo were transfixed. Nothing could have made them move from the spot where they stood, not even if they wanted to. And they really, _really_ wanted to.

And now Vinnie knew why. He turned around to face what held their attention so forcefully, and swallowed hard in recognition.

The tunnel behind was filling, and at the head of the large group of heavily-armed, rough-looking thugs was the man that had for years been plaguing his bro's subconscious thoughts, waking them repeatedly from their fitful slumbers whilst crying out, their fur drenched with cold, clammy sweat. There stood the deepest, darkest manifestation of their terrible, vivid nightmares.

_Crap... _

He leered at the surprised look the mouse was giving him. He had been waiting for this moment for the last two years, and from what he could see it was certainly going to have been worth it.

Vinnie paled as that monster before them grinned widely with delight.

"Well hello again, _rat-boys_... How very nice of you to come back to me after all this time... How very **nice** indeed."

* * *

THE END.

So... does anyone want to know what happened next?


	22. Chill zone Christmas special

Well it is almost Christmas, and what is a writer to do if not a special fan-fic of a festive theme? OK, i'll admit I don't do mushy very well, and as usual this is a dark/sad story (with a yuletide twist, of course) which some of you might want tissues for.

Forgive me if it's not up to standards though, between work and writer's block I have really been struggling for inspiration.

In terms of episode order this one actually occurs between 'road ravens' and 'we're going to cheesyland', but i'm just going to stick it at the end of the series because it is just a one-off special. Anyway enjoy, and Merry Christmas everyone!

* * *

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong.

16. Chill zone.

_December 21__st__, 12.03pm._

When Modo said that this snow stuff was dangerous, he wasn't actually far wrong. Though perhaps it wasn't so much the snow itself as the people messing around in it, or with it, as he and his bros soon found out during their first ever winter, and Christmas, living on Earth.

Who would have thought that at the jolliest time of year a real scrooge would emerge to spoil all the fun? That gargantuan Grinch named Limburger was easily on course for making this the worst, and the bleakest Christmas Chi-town had ever seen.

The festivities had started out well enough; a couple of days earlier the resident Martian mice had downed their typical macho image for a pleasant afternoon of entertaining the kids at the local orphanage, and after several hours of making snowmen (and snow mice) and ganging up on Vinnie with an arsenal of compacted snowballs, they had settled down with their human companion Charley and the children to tell a few traditional winter tales of their own (apparently 'the night before Christmas' wasn't quite as quiet on Mars as 'twas on Earth).

And then things had turned nasty, and it had nothing to do with family feuds between in-laws. The source of the trouble, as usual, was the city's resident crime boss Lawrence Limburger, and his latest scheme was to harvest the blanket of frozen water for Plutark. When almost scuppered by that annoying warm spot in the sky (the sun), which threatened to melt all the snow and ice he was plundering, he had Karbunkle enlist the aid of possibly the only super villain out there able to do anything about it. The Weathermeister. Not only did she keep the city perishingly cold so that Limburger could continue his pilfering plot, but simultaneously ensured that the fat fish kept his own fins well and truly toasty.

But the real frosting on the cake was what got the mice's attention. The squat little woman-villain didn't look that scary, but the things she could do with a city map and an array of weather-themed stickers could chill the bones of the hardiest of warriors. Once the bros realised their enemy's tower was a good 40 degrees or so warmer than its surroundings they went to pay him a visit (plus they had already encountered the snow-sucking robots Limburger was controlling). Making good use of his new employee, the portly party-pooper noticed his unwelcome guests en-route and arranged a disastrous weather event to ensure they didn't make it. Hailstones the size of beach balls rained down on the city, and though the three bikers easily out-manoeuvred the deadly downpour, alas not everyone was so lucky.

The local orphanage was completely destroyed in the deluge.

Deciding that rescuing children on the verge of being flattened was more pressing than the miserly minnow they were pursuing, the three mice turned tail, promising to make Limburger pay dearly for this one. Modo in particular was especially mad.

However even his vigorous vow to pulverise the Plutarkian for trying to hurt small children wasn't going to stop Limburger's next dirty trick from being played. Those snow-sucking bots had already been adapted to defend themselves from further interference, and before any of the mice could regroup to take revenge they were once again under attack.

Now, several hours later, all that earlier rage the large, grey mouse had felt had been well and truly numbed. Literally. One blast from the modified machines had sent him and his bike careering onto a frozen pond, and seconds later into it. Someone had quickly pulled him out, probably Throttle he guessed (Vinnie was far too busy trying to destroy the one giant snow sucker, which had assembled itself from all of the smaller ones, from the inside out), but hadn't had time to do much more. Now he was alone, lying on the frozen carpet, slowly but surely being covered with a fresh layer of snow. His body was so cold he couldn't even feel his fingers, let alone his long tail. Where was his Lil' Hoss? he wondered, _why isn't she here, blasting this stuff off of me?_

And where too were his bros? They wouldn't just leave him there to freeze to death, so either they were in trouble or else were hard on Limburger's backside and kicking him back to kingdom come. He sincerely hoped the latter.

Modo had really never been this cold before. Not even during the Martian winters – which were a damn sight colder than Chicago's despite being snow-free – and as he lay there he felt a desperate urge to just go to sleep. His eyelids were near enough frozen shut, so all he had to do was to stop thinking, and to tell his large-lobed ears to stop listening. Listening to the silent falling of flakes around him, to the absence of winter bird song in the air, and to the soft crunching of approaching footsteps as he slowly drifted off...

* * *

_11.34am_

Down in the basement of Limburger Tower someone was celebrating an early Christmas. Karbunkle had spent a pleasant few days as it was sun-bathing in his favourite purple bikini (a modified ensemble of one of his boss's silk ties and much taken-in boxer shorts...), sipping cocktails and wiggling the joystick that controlled his latest inventions. A vid-com screen showed him all the action, and he chortled gleefully as he watched his three furry foes struggle against his advancing army of snow suckers.

It was annoyingly predictable that the mice should finally succeed, and Karbunkle was about to take aim at the screen with the controller when he noticed something in the corner of the picture.

Though his alien employer was clearly a long-lost relative of Ebenezer, the sinister scientist quite enjoyed the holiday season, and this year was probably the first in a long while that he had actually had the time to do so. And what he saw before him, partially obscured by a blanket of the white stuff, truly made this his best Christmas yet.

* * *

_14.25pm_

"Charley-girl? Charley are you alright?"

Vinnie shook the snow from his ears and tried to gather his wits. He could see the Earth woman sitting a few feet away rubbing her eyes, and though she looked a little dazed she appeared otherwise unharmed. Charley answered in the affirmative, groaning a little as she rose and complaining that 'hanging around these mice was not good for her aching body', and the white mouse grinned. The miffed mechanic almost never swore if something was really wrong with her (aside from the time she dropped a spanner on her toe... even his tan-furred bro was shocked by the foul words that came from her mouth that day) so her repeated cursing assured him she really was in one piece.

The mouse turned his attention back to his immediate task, standing, which was a little more difficult than he had expected. _I knew I should have let Charley put the spiked grips on my boots this morning_.

Having in the meantime recovered herself, Charley was now watching the rather ridiculous sight of the smaller Martian slipping around like a drunken skater, eventually stumbling over his own feet and spinning around to face her in a magnificent belly flop.

"You know what Vinnie, even Bambi didn't have this much trouble."

The mouse scowled at the woman, who almost fell herself she was laughing so hard. Who the heck is Bambi? he thought crossly. _Bet he isn't as studly as I am, nor the fastest thing on two wheels..._

Eventually Vinnie did make it to his feet and back to his two girls (the red racer had been beeping urgently the whole time; probably also having a good laugh at his expense the mouse assumed) and took a good look around. There were no obvious signs that his bros were nearby, and after an hour or two searching the debris from the snow-sucker robot he had blasted apart earlier, neither he nor Charley saw anything to indicate the two other mice were even still in the park.

* * *

_13.09pm_

_Drat it, Camembert's going to boil my scales for this one. Why can't those mice just keep their big noses out of my business for once? All I wanted was a little bit of snow..._

The fretful fish-man paced the woollen carpet of his office, trying his hardest to suppress the fluttering in his stomach at the thought of facing his superior. Announcing yet another failure on his part this close to a deadline was not something Limburger relished doing. The Lord High Chairman Camembert had been particularly grumpy of late (apparently Christmas cheer did not extend to his kind; Plutarkians only liked receiving, not giving gifts after all) and had threatened to do some very unpleasant things to his least productive subordinate should he come up short this time.

_I have to think of something else to give him, something to appease this perpetual bad mood he so likes to take out on me..._

But what could he possibly do this late in the schedule? There was no land to buy, and even if there was all the registry offices and city planners were already winding down for the holidays, and nothing would be granted last minute no matter how much money he waved in front of their eyes. Snow had seemed like such a great idea; not only was it easier to contain than water but was more widely available, and would look great covering his boss's home during the Plutarkian winter. Afterwards the water would be used elsewhere, but it was the idea of the visual effect that had really inspired him this time.

He needed something else, something just as appropriately festive. Something to put a toothy smile back on that devilish deity's miserable face.

It was then he noticed the light on his desk's intercom flashing.

"What now Karbunkle? Can't you see i'm busy wearing the rug thin with worry?"

There was a slight pause. "No your cheesiness, i'm afraid I left my x-ray glasses on Mars (_Damn they were so useful too_), ummm but if you need a distraction I think I have the perfect thing for you down here."

Normally the doc's simpering would have driven Limburger to do something deadly, but being as he didn't want to have to yet again replace his flooring he decided whatever it was would be worth a little look at least.

* * *

_18.41pm_

_Somewhere on the edge of the city..._

There was a strange brightness about this particular kind of night-time. The sky above had slowly darkened, turning from a murky grey to a reddish haze, which deepened further to purple, then an inky blue, and finally black. There were no stars in the heavens tonight; the heavy cloud swathed the twilight, threatening more precipitation yet protecting from worse. A sharp frost right now would probably kill him.

Throttle wrapped his arms tighter around his chest. He was glad of his fur, very glad, because that was all he had right now to keep him warm. An image of a thick, red coat with soft white cuffs filled his mind. He really wished he still had that on him, but somehow between that memory and here he had lost it, and quite unluckily the matching trousers had followed suit. They were part of that cosy image too, and the only other thing he could remember at this moment.

The tan mouse must have wandered the parklands for hours now and still had seen no other person. He had stopped for a rest and taken shelter under a large-boughed fir, finding the first spot in miles that wasn't covered in thick snow. Behind him was a line of deep footprints, his own, and ahead was an orange haze that denoted the city skyline.

_It must be the reflected light_, he thought to himself. Though now it was well after sunset he could still see quite well. The white snow seemed to light up the ground, and all of the objects it coated, and with the heavy glow of streetlights polluting the horizon it was with little difficulty that Throttle could find his way around.

Not that he had any idea where he was going. This was definitely not Mars, he knew that for sure, and his instincts told him that the inviting warmth of the built-up area ahead of him would not be so welcoming should he turn up looking like he did.

When he had pulled himself from the depths of the snow drift that he had awoken in earlier that day, and had found himself quite alone, he had wandered the empty forest and its clearings trying to make sense of where he was and get his bearings on what had happened to him. The only thing he could make out was that there had been some sort of a battle – a recent one – and there were the smouldering remains of what might have been a gigantic robot, and not far from that the broken walls and collapsed ceiling of some kind of modest-looking building.

There was no sign of life within or around the rubble, and as the air began to fill with thick white flakes of something he didn't remember seeing before, any chance of finding the tracks of his friends had faded fast. All he could do was keep walking, and keep his eye out for someone or something that he recognised.

Throttle sighed and pulled his chilled limbs and tail closer into his shivering body. He felt certain he wouldn't be in this strange place without his two bros, but as he hadn't seen any sight nor sound of them since waking up he could only assume the worst. Though what could be worse than this, he thought glumly.

* * *

_23.08pm_

The reflection in the glass came into focus, and his stomach clenched again. Vinnie had spent the last hour staring out of the small garage window, trying his hardest to not look at the small pile of presents waiting under the glowing lights of the Christmas tree. They had all joined in together helping Charley get the decorations up in her garage, an excited fervour of what was to be their first ever December 25th on planet Earth.

Though they had holidays on Mars, and though they were capable of intercepting some of Earth's satellite communications, this seasonal custom was completely new to them. Years of war back home had seriously dampened celebrations and such like, and the concept of good tidings and giving gifts was enthralling to the three mice. Well, for one of the three the idea of _receiving_ gifts was what really got his attention.

That said, when Vinnie turned from the reflection to view the real thing he couldn't help the sad smile when he looked at the (extremely poorly) wrapped gifts he had proudly left out for his two bros.

_This really sucks_ he thought, returning to glare out of the window.

Since returning from the snow-bot debris field to wait out the other two mice, Charley had noticed the white mouse was less _vigorous_ than she would have expected. Considering this situation was a very stark reminder of a few months earlier (and getting more and more like it by the second), she was surprised that he wasn't tearing down the door to get back out there and searching for his bros.

Reasoning to herself that it would be really bad luck if the two mice had found themselves back underground, and that they were probably fine and just out thrashing Limburger, Karbunkle and that crazy weather-controlling crone, she had pulled out her medi-kit and sat the third biker down for a quick check-up.

"You've got a fever" she commented tiredly as she pulled the thermometer out of his least favourite point of entry (causing him to grumble mutinously). Normally a temperature wouldn't have made much difference to his energy and determination, but this time Vinnie looked back at her just as wearily.

It was bad enough that his best friends were missing again (actually, nothing worried him more than that if he was honest), but to be too sick to go and find them? That really blowed.

He was about to protest when Charley cut him short. "Don't even think it. Take a few pills and get some rest. You can go look for them in the morning when you're feeling better."

And so the sickly white mouse had pulled the thick fleece blanket Charley had given him tightly around his shoulders, and curled up on the window seat to continue his vigil. The woman had threatened him with all sorts to try and get him to go to bed (including no presents, no TV for a month, no root beer...) but nothing would tear him away from that spot. She had gone upstairs an hour ago, and now in the near darkness, brightened only by the coloured lights around the small artificial tree, Vinnie rested his fevered forehead on his arms and cried himself to sleep.

* * *

_December 22__nd__, 00.33am_

"Hold still you ridiculous rodent! Hold still!"

_What the heck? Where am I? Oh Moma... Oh Moma not here... Bros? Where are you bros?_

Modo struggled against the heavy restraints against his body. The last thing he remembered was a loud crunch by his right ear, and then all had gone black. Now it was like he had woken into a nightmare. He was strapped to a table, his robotic arm chained shut and pinned as his left one was by his side.

Strangely though he was covered in a thick blanket, and the surface beneath him wasn't cold steel but softer, and warm. Not that it seemed to make a difference; he was shivering violently and desperate to get free. Somewhere by his left side, and messing with his only remaining flesh arm, was the person responsible for replacing his right limb with metal. Karbunkle.

"Hold still rodent! How am I meant to get this into you if you keep on flinching?!"

_Flinching?!_ Modo's red eye widened, glowing angrily, as he saw the large needle poised in the mad doctor's hands. Whatever it was he wanted to do with _that_ he wasn't about to let him have an easy target.

He opened his mouth to say something along those lines, but realised he couldn't get the words out. He tried to growl in frustration, but that was unsuccessful as well. Instead of speech, a strange musical sound emitted from his throat, and in a panic he tried to yell, which only served to make the music louder.

Karbunkle smirked at his patient's obvious failed attempts to speak, and was amused at the pain it must be causing the rock and roll-loving mouse to be subjected to six of the best Christmas carols (from his own personal collection) emitting from his mouth instead. It was his latest invention, and followed hot on the heels of other means to silence his noisier test subjects. He had already tested his voice vanishing powder on Fred the Mutant (who had been more upset that it didn't hurt than at his lack of a voice), but having come across his old records of festive classics he had got the idea for something a little more fun.

Poor Modo now had his voice box implanted with Karbunkle's new toy, and hearing one chorus of 'Jingle Bells' was enough to stall any more complaints from the shell-shocked mouse.

"Don't worry it will get annoying for me too in a couple of days" the white-coated crone muttered idly, before adding more loudly "but if you want to live that long you have to let me get this canula in. Warmed saline will bring your core body temperature back up more quickly than the heat pad."

The grey mouse gaped mutely at the creative crackpot still waggling the large hypodermic, but stilled his efforts to break his bonds to allow him to do his work. Soon he felt the coldness inside him melting away, and the warmth plus the sedative now coursing through his system sent him deeply back to sleep.

* * *

_01.58am_

The snow had continued to fall throughout the evening. In the depths of the hollow beneath the conifer's branches a tan-furred ball sat quite motionless. Throttle had soon given up gazing towards the mystery city when the air thickened with the frozen white precipitant, and had fallen into an uneasy sleep in his makeshift shelter. A word had danced around inside his head for a while, something half familiar but long forgotten. He was sure it meant something important, but couldn't quite figure out what.

Hibernation. That was the word, but the meaning was obscured. His tired brain was struggling to find the Martian translation, and so he gave up and tucked his nose into the crook of his arms and tried to think of something even more vital. Like how to find his comrades, and how to do that without being seen by the locals. They might be friendly, but were more likely to be dangerous. It was rare to encounter natives who didn't initially see visitors from another world as a threat.

_That was our mistake_, he murmured inwardly, _to have been so accepting of those rotten fish_...

He slept. Not deeply; despite the cold the survival instinct was still pretty strong, and that itself refused to let him rest completely. Which was a good thing too, because eventually the snow collecting on the branch above him was so heavy there was a loud snap as the wooden roof gave way.

Throttle found himself jerking awake just as a heavy pile of icy powder tumbled down over him and filled the hollow. He thrust his arm upwards just in time to reach the broken tree limb before the rest of his body was encased.

_Great. Just great. _

The mouse pulled with all his might but only managed to shift himself a couple of inches. The more he pulled, the more compacted the snow around him became. Being so unfamiliar with the properties of snow Throttle didn't realise this was happening until it was almost too late. He stopped moving. His only option was to try and withdraw his arm and use the opening to breathe. If he could keep the hole clear until morning maybe he could shout for help. It did at least seem less exposed under the snow, and another vague image of a strange domed-shaped building made of ice blocks came to mind.

He let go of the branch, but there was a problem. A _big_ problem. He couldn't actually move his arm.

* * *

_02.36am_

On his window-side perch the white mouse shifted, a loud snore issuing from his snout. Vinnie stirred as his body adjusted to allow him to breathe easier, and then relaxed again.

However it relaxed almost completely, and next minute he awoke with a start in a jumble of blankets and limbs, having toppled onto the floor below.

"Oh man no fair" he grumbled under his breath, and picked himself off the tattered carpet that lined this section of the woman's living room.

With a sniff, and one last glance between the curtains, Vinnie gathered the blanket around himself, switched off the tree lights and headed upstairs. It was at times like these he realised he should just listen to the clever mechanic and do as he was told. A soft mattress and her warm body would be much more comforting right now than a bench – if she let him get that close again that is. But a bed of any sort was a welcome alternative.

His bare feet trod quietly up the wooden staircase, the soft hairs between his pads muffling the careful steps he took. For this he was grateful of being a Martian mouse, and when he opened the door to Charley's bedroom he could see he had not woken her.

_She looks so beautiful when she's sleeping, _Vinnie thought, his heart performing a small leap in his chest at the sight of the auburn-haired woman. _I wonder if she's wearing anything under there... _No, no he couldn't think things like that, not now.

Vinnie mentally slapped himself for being such a pervert and reached forward to stroke the wisp of Charley's short fringe from her face. She twitched, and then whispered in her sleep "Vinnie?"

"Yeah, it's me Charley-girl" he replied quietly, "Just come to tuck you in."

The mouse hesitated for a moment, torn between his need to feel her beside him, and not wanting to disturb her further. He was about to retreat to the spare room when the sleeping woman moved, and lifted one side of the comforter in invitation.

Vinnie sighed as he nestled in under the cover. His body ached and his head throbbed, and the familiar twist of worry about his bro's safety nagged at his insides. But even so, right now he felt like the luckiest mouse in the entire world. This is was what he had really wanted to get for Christmas.

* * *

_02.37am_

The slight pop in his shoulder was a familiar, and distinctly unpleasant feeling. After the pop there was meant to be pain – and there would have been too if he hadn't been so numb with cold – but all he could sense was a pressure on his scapula as the limb continued to be pulled.

At the other end of his arm something had hold of his hand and was tugging fiercely at it. Throttle pondered over whether or not the snow or his flesh would give first, and was extremely thankful that he couldn't actually feel the dislocation all that badly. Something that would change quite sharply should his body warm significantly before it was reset.

But who would be out here, in this weather, at this time of night (assuming he hadn't passed out and it was still night) trying their hardest to free him from the mini-avalanche he was buried under?

The only warning he had had that someone was there was a tinny, jingling noise, and a loud, single yell (which sounded a bit like 'Yo!') In response he had wiggled his free hand and tried his best to shout for help, and when the jingle and the voice stopped he feared he had missed them.

But he hadn't. Someone had heard him or seen him waving, and that someone was trying to get him free.

There was a soft scratching above his head, too, and he could only guess that there was a second person there digging away whilst the other one pulled on him. They were getting very close, his rescuers, and he sincerely hoped they got him out soon because his air had all but run out already.

* * *

_15.55pm_

Modo peered out groggily from beneath the lid of his single eye. Everything was blurry, and the voices reaching his ears from somewhere in the basement laboratory were muffled and dim. It took him a few minutes to remember where he was, and what had apparently happened. He had been fighting the snow suckers, and he had been blasted onto the ice. He had fallen into water, someone had pulled him out, and he had lay there for hours. Then he had woken up in Karbunkle's lab. Karbunkle had made the snow suckers, but he hadn't made the weather. That was her, that freaky felon with a foreign accent. The Weathermeister. Where she was now was anyone's guess, but she had left her mark on the city without a doubt. Killer weather. Dangerous weather. The orphanage had been destroyed... and the children?

_The children!_

The muffled voices were becoming clearer.

"Just give them a teddy bear and some candy canes, that will keep them quiet." One, deep-sounding voice said.

"But the crying is driving me insane your grumpy gruyereness, how am I suppose to work with all that wailing?!" a second, weaker voice responded.

A slapping sound followed by a terse 'I'm sure you'll find some concoction or other to sort out those brats. Now if you don't mind I have some serious sucking up to do before Camembert realises I have failed yet again to secure him the latest shipment of natural resources!"

There followed the whoosh of Limburger's elevator platform as he ascended to his penthouse office, and the muttering of Karbunkle which sounded something like "I've got a concoction or two that will sort you out, you malodorous moron".

As Modo's fogged hearing cleared more his large ears detected another sound, a higher pitched one coming from further away beyond the lab door. The sound of frightened children, one which stabbed his gut and made his insides boil with fury.

_They've kidnapped the orphans too! How low can you get? I swear I will kill that filthy fish and demented doc if they so much as harm a hair on their heads..._

A face appeared in front of him again, and had his arm been free he would have punched a hole right through it right there and then.

Karbunkle must have known what he was thinking because he grinned wickedly at the helpless mouse. "Hmm... perhaps I shouldn't use the voice-vanisher on those annoying children after all." What better way to torture the giant, gentle-hearted mouse? he thought. _Emotional pain can be so much more effective than physical._

A flick of a switch and a soft background hum of 'It's the most wonderful time of year' drifted from the lab's stereo. Karbunkle's face brightened. Maybe a bit of both were on the menu tonight, he mused, as his hand began reaching for the tray of scalpels beside him.

* * *

_17.08pm_

Vinnie sniffed again. His nose was now quite swollen (not to mention sticky) from all the wiping and blowing, and though Charley had at first been quite patient he could tell that his constant snorting and sniffling were starting to drive her up the wall. But it wasn't like it was his fault – he had never had a cold before, no bug he ever caught on Mars made his nose run this badly – and all the meds the woman had forced him to take didn't seem to make the slightest bit of difference.

His body temperature couldn't seem to make up its mind. Hot, cold, hot, cold. And the aching. Even his tail felt stiff he ached so much. No macho mouse should ever be laid this low by a common virus, Vinnie grumbled to himself.

The Earth woman had insisted that though most humans had some level of immunity to this relatively mild infection, to those who lived in small jungle tribes it was a killer. For someone like him from another planet: as strong as his immune system was it was still a new thing for his body to deal with. The cold weather probably gave the bug a chance to take hold, and now he just had to deal with it like everyone else.

His continued moaning had been the thing to eventually drive the woman out the door sometime that afternoon, and she had set off in her truck to scout around for signs of Throttle and Modo. After several hours on his own, the white mouse was starting to worry that Charley might not return either.

A loud thud outside made his ears prick up. Moments later the side door to the garage swung open, and a red-nosed woman burst in rubbing her gloved hands fiercely together.

It was a huge relief to him that she had returned safely, and she looked so determined that Vinnie's hopes rose, thinking she must have some good news.

"Sorry Vinnie, all I can tell you is that they aren't anywhere near the orphanage."

The mouse was about to ask about somewhere else and she shook her head before he even had chance. "And they're not there either. Best bet is Limburger Tower, but between the snow and the goons I couldn't even get in the plaza."

Vinnie slumped, defeated. He didn't want to think what Limburger might be up to if he had his two bros trapped in the tower.

* * *

_19.00pm_

It was the smell that woke him. Sweet spices, burnt sugar, and something more exotic. A tiny part of his brain recognised the aromas, but he couldn't quite place his finger on where from. Much like everything else he thought of, it seemed.

There was a soft ticking noise in the room, and the crackle of a lit fireplace. It was deliciously warm, and his body was well-cushioned on something quite soft and squishy. Over him was a woollen blanket, a loosely-knitted thing that barely covered his huge torso, let alone his long legs and tail. Nevertheless it was a comfort and he buried his nose deeply into it, inhaling yet another scent, this time of herbs.

He exhaled, and a small moan of relaxed pleasure escaped him.

"Aha, so you're awake. Good, good, i'm so glad the medicine has taken."

Throttle's eyes flew open at the voice. He hadn't realised that he wasn't alone, and he quickly sat up at the sound of it, pulling the minute blanket into a tight and defensive grip around his naked body. He couldn't see a thing but that wouldn't stop him fighting to protect himself.

"No need to be alarmed, my boy, no one's going to hurt you here."

He felt his field specs being pressed onto his face, and the source of the voice came into focus. A large, rounded man with rosy cheeks and white, shoulder length hair, and a long bushy beard of the same colour. He wore a simple patterned shirt and green trousers, and a small pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Apparently he had been sat in the armchair in the corner of the room reading a book, from what Throttle judged from the man's position. This was a sitting room, he observed, and he himself had been asleep on a deep-cushioned, four-seater settee.

"Wh...where am I?" croaked Throttle, searching around him for his clothes and his laser weapon.

"I'm afraid we will have to lend you some of those, you were quite naked when we found you. Good job you have that thick fur or you might have died."

The man had a wide smile and a twinkle in his eye, and yet another half-forgotten image came to the forefront of the confused mouse's mind.

The mysterious man interrupted his thoughts. "How's the arm? So sorry my elves were a little rough, it took several of them to even lift you once they got you free."

Throttle shook his head, shrugging, having completely forgotten that his arm had nearly been ripped from his body. His eyes kept searching the room, analysing it's layout in case he needed to make a quick exit. If only he knew where to, exactly.

A knock on the door made him jump again. The jolly-looking man stood to invite in a much smaller version of himself (by now Throttle had realised these people were human, and that humans lived on Earth so therefore that's where he must be) who was carrying a bundle in his tiny arms.

"Here we are, i'm afraid they might not be what you're used to, but they will keep you warm enough here. Get yourself dressed now and I will give you a tour."

And with that the large jolly man turned to leave, and Throttle stared after him in disbelief.

"But.. where... I mean who... I mean what..?"

The man spoke over his shoulder as he left, and Throttle just about caught a couple of words, none of which made any sense. Something about claws, and the North pole.

* * *

_December 23__rd__, 06.05am _

At least their cries had finally stopped. The timid pleas from the orphans had broken his heart, and it had been made even worse for him that he had been allowed to hear every second of it. Karbunkle had only had to say the words 'bogie man' and 'monster' before locking the door to their windowless room behind him, and their panicked squeals of fear had soon followed over the lab's intercom.

It probably didn't help that the loud thuds from his own struggles must have added to the drama. Although it was almost surreal to hear such happy musical notes blaring from his snout instead of the screams he probably would have been making. Eventually he managed to control himself, and the unhappy sounds from the next room grew quieter and quieter, indicating the children had most likely fallen asleep.

Karbunkle hadn't wasted any time in getting stuck in with working on his new test subject. First chance he got he had disconnected the bionic arm and hooked it up to his computer to run some diagnostics. Modo looked at the empty socket with revulsion, and his stomach churned when the evil experimenter began digging around the joint with his surgical tools. Even for a Martian mouse he had a high pain threshold, but his recent brush with hypothermia, plus the stress of listening to the terrified orphans, really did weaken his resolve.

Having worked through the night testing various chemicals and devices on the unfortunate Martian, Karbunkle had called it a day and gone off to bed. Modo had no idea where exactly that was, but as the weird little man had taken the platform lift that his boss had earlier, he assumed it was somewhere quite close to Limburger's private suite. Maybe even the same room, the mouse conjectured with amusement.

How he could laugh at all in this situation he didn't know, though it might have been the nitrous oxide that had been given to him not that long ago. Perhaps it was a new form of torture, being made to giggle when nothing else could possibly hurt more. Modo didn't know, but the thought of his tormentor snuggling up to the rancid-smelling Limburger was threatening to set him off again. He had to hold back, however; he couldn't bear another note of 'Silent Night', and 'Deck the Halls' made him want to deck himself, or anything within reach to make it stop.

* * *

_09.30am_

Charley had insisted he stay in bed for as long as possible to give him a good chance of recovery. Thinking this would mean more cuddles he readily agreed, but to his immense disappointment the woman had guided him to her spare room, shoved him in the single, and waved the thermometer in his direction. He knew it was futile to resist, and with him running a temperature of 102 it made sense to just accept the soluble aspirin (the taste of which almost made him puke) being poured down his snout and curl up until it was all over.

Now Vinnie was sitting up in bed and facing his first meal of solid food in nearly forty-eight hours. He wasn't too sure his stomach could handle bacon and eggs right now; even hot dogs would be pushing it.

"Eat up Vinnie, got to get you strong again and ready to kick some Limburger butt!" Charley was far more enthusiastic than he felt, but her shining green eyes told him that things were on the up, and that he ought to do as he was told. He was getting fed up of his temperature being taken, though at least this morning it was below 100 and as far as he was aware that was normal for his species. At last he was getting better.

"Sure thing sweetheart... but promise me you won't tell my bros about any of this, my machismo rating is taking a serious hammering here."

Charley winked and flounced out the room, a mischievous grin on her face. It probably had something to do with the pink night gown she had forced her patient into when he tried to refuse the chicken soup she made him. That and it gave her much easier access when she needed another reading.

"_Evil, evil woman"_ muttered Vinnie under his breath, whilst contemplating the easiest way to ditch the egg whites without her noticing.

* * *

_12.34pm_

There was nowhere he had ever seen that came close to what this place was. Huge, high-ceilinged halls with arches and domes and stained glass windows, and floors filled with tiny people running around in pointed hats and long, curl-toed slippers. They all looked so busy, and yet so happy, and filled the giant rooms with their excited chatter and cheerful sing song.

Between the halls were lower passages that looked like they were cut into rock. Doors to smaller rooms were heavy and wooden, and though he didn't quite know why this part of the whole complex made him slightly anxious. His mood would lift again as he emerged into another hall, and another, and another, each vast in space and yet crowded, bursting at their seams with activity and colour. Some rooms were clearly workshops, others were like warehouses. One particularly impressive one was a magnificent dining room hung with flowing drapes and tapestries, its tables clothed in shimmering fabric and decorated with rows upon rows of red wax candles. It and the adjoining kitchen were laden with cooking smells so scrumptious his mouth watered freely, and his stomach rumbled with longing.

Throttle had never seen so much joy and happiness, and so much dedication to hard work. The larger, jolly-faced man explained that his workers, the elves, spent all year researching the latest toys, and keeping tabs on the behaviour of the world's children – regardless of whether or not they believed in him – and then in the last few months they would get to work on making all the presents that he himself would be delivering ("Why wouldn't they believe in you?" Throttle had asked him inquisitively. The man has simply winked and patted his nose with a finger, leaving the mouse still completely baffled).

And if that didn't leave the Martian completely in awe as it was, when shown the vehicle by which all those presents would be carried, Throttle's eyes nearly fell out of his head in shock. Just eight reindeer, one man and his sleigh, and one night? _Impossible_.

"Ah, but that's part of the magic" the white-bearded man replied to his thoughts, which left Throttle in no doubt that there was definitely something rather odd going on here.

And where was here? A short trip beyond the stable doors told him little – it was just as white out there as the last place he had woken up – but apparently this was some place much colder and much further north than where they had found him, and not anywhere any normal person would simply stumble upon.

Seeing that his guest was struggling to take everything on board, the rosy-cheeked man brought him back inside to the warmth and insisted his elves take care of him for a while. He had last minute business to attend to before setting off on his annual trek, and a few hours shut-eye wouldn't go amiss either, he said.

Throttle couldn't agree more; a belly full of that amazing food and a nap were top of his agenda too.

* * *

_14.16pm_

_Noooo! _

Modo watched helplessly from the table in the lab at the small procession of children in front of him. All of them were teary and pale, and terrified of the two strange men giving them all a very thorough look over. Limburger held a collection of papers in his white-gloved hands, and whilst Karbunkle was giving him some sort of commentary he was looking between each of the papers (which from where Modo lay looked like pictures) and each of the children in turn.

"Excellent, excellent dear doctor. I'm sure these children will be perfect, and will make a very nice collection indeed."

Limburger smiled indulgently at the troop of frightened youngsters, but soon turned his attention to the other captive in his basement. "And what did you have in mind for this meddling Martian? Something maliciously merry I hope."

Karbunkle practically could have danced with glee that his idea to salvage Limburger's career had been so well received. He pulled out another picture from his coat pocket and handed it to his employer with a flourish.

The fish's eyes lit up at what Karbunkle intended to do with the mouse prisoner. In fact the idea was so brilliant he snorted with laughter and patted the white-coated clinician on the back.

"Fantastic! Get this done by midnight tonight and I think we might have something to celebrate this Christmas after all." _Camembert is simply going to love this._

Whilst Limburger ascended to his office once more (humming 'Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer' as he did so, much to Modo's disgust) Karbunkle ushered the children back into their room. Once done the delighted doc began shuffling through the pile of pictures again, and then scanning them into his computer.

It was then that Modo got a look at the images, for they showed up clearly on the large screen. He was completely mystified at what he saw though. _Why would a bunch of decorations and toys get blubber butt so excited? Does he actually plan on doing something charitable this year?_

Fat chance, Modo thought, there had to be something more sinister afoot. His suspicions were confirmed when out of the corner of his eye he saw the final picture being scanned in, and Karbunkle looking between it and his disconnected bionic arm.

* * *

_16.12pm_

Outside the formidable tower sat a red racing bike, astride of which was one well-wrapped up mechanic, and one somewhat wrapped up Martian mouse. Vinnie had shrugged off the extra layers, insisting he felt warm enough and that the extra weight would slow him down. Reluctantly his passenger had let him get his way, and now they both were waiting below their enemy's lair and arguing over what to do.

"You always want to just go blasting head first through the window, but you know it wouldn't hurt to just think about a strategy before charging in for once!"

"But sweetheart, it's been like two days already, you think i'm going to waste any time actually thinking about this?!"

"We wouldn't be wasting time if you would just shut up and listen instead of arguing" Charley countered, punching the mouse in the ribs with frustration. Why oh why didn't he ever listen to her?

Sensing her mounting fury Vinnie relented. "Fine. What do you suggest then?"

The woman huffed. _Deep breaths girl, just take deep breaths and try not to knock him off his bike._

* * *

_16.16pm._

Grunting in agony, Modo turned his single eye towards his tormentor. Karbunkle had really pulled out the stops the last couple of hours, and this must have been the eighth experimental formula he had tested on him. The previous seven hadn't done too much damage, but this last one burned at his bones and set his skull on fire. The deviant doctor mentioned something about decalcification, and then gave him a practical demonstration of the drug's effect. Modo's left arm was now broken, as were two of his fingers. As he screamed the lab was filled with 'fa la la la la's' and he bit his tongue hard to silence the awful din.

_How am I going to save those children now?_ he thought miserably. Missing one arm and the other unusable. A voice that sounded like something out of a church choir's hymn book. He was not in any fit shape to mount any kind of defence, let alone an attack.

"Don't worry you hapless hamster, the lignifier will fix you" Karbunkle chimed impatiently, "Just not in any way you can imagine..." he muttered afterwards under his breath.

Modo wasn't the brightest mouse, not even close, but he was sure he had heard a similar word before, and if he was right then that last picture he had seen made him positively sick.

He had to get free before the doctor began applying his formulas to the children. He wasn't sure what they all did, but the end result (for him at least) was becoming more obvious. It must have been something about this time of year, because at no other point would a mouse like him have considered magic potions to be even vaguely plausible. But then again this was Karbunkle he was thinking about, the most ingenious of inventors out there (along with Charley-ma'am, he added internally).

That familiar whoosh sounded again, and the masked face of Limburger entered his eye-line.

"Have you prepared him as we discussed, doctor? I'm not having that pompous plutocrat thinking he isn't getting the best I can give him".

"Indeed, your clever Cheddary ripeness. In the next hour we should begin to see the changes, and by dinner time you can watch him transform from Martian mouse to mistletoe's house!"

Karbunkle followed up with a triumphant 'ho ho ho' which didn't seem to bother Limburger too much, as he joined in with some side-splitting chortles of his own.

"And how long until you begin the process on those diminutive brats? We all know a tree is best presented fully decorated."

The laughing lab-worker nodded enthusiastically. "As soon as the mouse grows needles, your seasonal err Stiltonness..."

The Plutarkian looked down on the horrified mouse strapped to the examination table. Presenting one of the notorious Martian rebels to his employer was one way to keep him happy, but he had finally found a way to add some panache to this gift. It was appropriate that the big guy with a soft-spot for children would spend the rest of his life taking care of them (if having them hanging off his limbs could be called that). Until Camembert decided he needed some firewood, that is, Limburger thought wickedly, then those kiddies would have a permanent home of their own: in a box.

* * *

_16.18pm_

"Quickly, we won't have much time once they realise it's neither a drill nor a fire."

Charley pressed into the back of the white mouse, trying to convey the urgency she felt through her touch. Or else she thought that squeezing him would make him respond like a horse might to its rider. Either way, Vinnie pushed his racer on harder, navigating the empty corridors in the lower floors of the tall building with the sounding of the alarm still wailing in his ears, until eventually he reached his destination.

"They gotta be in here, no way Limburger would be dumb enough to keep them upstairs."

Blasting a hole in the lab door was pointless, as it was made of the near-indestructible Plutarkian glass steel, so he hit the wall beside it with two shots from his bike's lasers. Once in it took no time to locate Modo, who appeared to be unconscious. Hot on Vinnie's tail was one more rescuer: Lil' Hoss. She had followed the red racer's tracker from the ruined orphanage to the tower, having first blasted her own way out of the bottom of the frozen pond. She did not seem impressed to have been forgotten.

Now the purple bike was ready to take her limp-bodied rider home to safety. Vinnie and Charley man-handled the giant mouse off the table and onto her seat, and the bike immediately took off.

"Guess she remembers the last time she was locked up in this lab, huh?"

Charley nodded. "Any sign of Throttle?"

Vinnie sniffed the air, searching for his older bro's unique scent. "Nope. How long we got left sweetheart?"

"You're out of time rodent" came the reply from the hole in the wall. A small army of goons had assembled seconds after the purple bike had left, and seeing as there was no sign of the other mouse Vinnie decided now was a good time for them to leave too.

* * *

_17.59pm_

On his sofa bed in the sitting room Throttle stirred restlessly. He had gone for a lie down after his enormous dinner, and as soon as his head hit the little cushion pillow he was out. Soon his mind began to wander and he began dreaming. At first nothing in particular, just images of red sands and saber squids and desert storms. And then the dreams changed, and the skies were blue not orange, and the ground firm and lush with greenery, not dry sands bereft of life. There were his two bros beside him, each astride their bikes, and on a fourth was a human woman, her pale blue and white helmet covering her long auburn hair, the clear visor pushed up to reveal her startling, emerald green eyes.

His white-furred bro was laughing, and pulling the woman onto his own bike with his tail. The grey mouse was rolling his eyes and muttering something about treating girls right, and in his own ear he heard the word 'Carbine' being whispered.

Then the scene changed and he was battling a human-masked, purple-suited Plutarkian and his goon army, and there beside that foul felon was a large oil-covered man, and another, skinnier one in a white coat. All were laughing, and pointing at something behind him.

He turned. The city melted away and all he could see now was white. And in that white was a single grey figure lying still. "Modo!" he cried, racing over to him. Before he could reach the fallen mouse he stumbled, and fell heavily onto another. The white furred body of his younger bro. "Vinnie!" He sobbed, realising that he had left his two best friends out in the cold to die. "Noo, bros!" Throttle shouted, clinging onto the limp forms of his two close friends.

"Bros!" he yelled out loud.

* * *

_18.01pm _

Vinnie was back upstairs in bed again, shivering violently. Once the adrenalin had broken down in his system, his body decided it really wasn't ready to be racing around fighting goons and dodging bullets. His temperature was well back into triple figures, and a jar of dissolved aspirin was waiting on the side table for him to drink it.

But the pain killers always made him sleepy, and he wanted to stay awake in case Modo came to. He needed to know if the big guy knew where Throttle was.

Downstairs Charley rifled through her medi-kit for bandages. She already had the plaster made up, and had carefully positioned the mouse's arm so that she could put the temporary cast on. It wasn't that long ago that the poor guy had his leg broken, and no doubt he wouldn't be too thrilled to spend another three months without use of a limb. It was only a small mercy that she had been able to snatch his robotic arm from Karbunkle's lab before they left amid a blaze of laser fire.

However there was something more going on with the unconscious mouse, and she wasn't too sure what, if anything, in her bag could be used to stop it. Modo's fur had been shedding like crazy since being rescued, and over the last hour the bald patches in-between had started to regrow. But not with soft, downy grey hairs. Now most of the mouse's body was covered in a fine carpet of stiff, slender stalks that were green in colour. They reminded her of the leaves most conifers have.

She took another hesistant look at his left arm. The bruising seemed to have faded, which was odd, but weirder still it looked like the break had also set itself. _That's not possible_, she thought, but a careful inspection told her that in the few minutes she had taken to prepare the cast the bone really had mended.

Or had it? The limb no longer felt fleshy, but hard and almost... wooden.

_What the heck is going on? _

"Ch..Charley..ma'am"

Modo was staring right at her and she hadn't even realised he was awake. He seemed quite alarmed to be in her garage, and not at all relieved at being rescued as she might have expected.

"It's ok big guy, we got you outta there. More or less in one piece."

There was no way she was going to panic him further by telling him he was doing a better job of looking like a Norwegian spruce than the plastic thing standing in her living room.

But the big mouse did not look like he was going to settle, and Charley tried again to re-assure him. "You're going to be fine, everything's going to be fine."

"W-what about the children? Are they here too?"

"What children Modo? There was only you at the tower, there were no children."

The horrified look on the grey mouse's face was starting to make her doubt her own statement.

"You have to hurry Charley-ma'am. They're going to... Oh Charley it's terrible; you have to stop them before it's too late! You have to believe me Charley-ma'am, please."

Never one to doubt the honesty of this kind-hearted mouse, she did believe him. But if she went back she was going to have to go alone; there was no way Vinnie was up for another round of goon bashing, and neither was poor Modo.

"Easy big guy, i'm going to do everything I can to help you, and them. Now take a deep breath and tell me exactly where the children are."

* * *

_19.23pm_

"I can't believe that damn mouse got away!"

Limburger was pacing the floor of his office, and hovering nervously nearby was Karbunkle. It was just typical that their supposedly trained goons would fail to stop the mice, even without the bumbling buffoon that was Greasepit getting in the way (he was at home spending Christmas with his mother).

"Never mind your parmesan perfectionness, we still at least have the orphans."

Fearing some kind of object launching in his direction, the wily scientist had positioned himself behind the screen Limburger often used when changing his clothes (his office wardrobe had a whole set of identical purple suits). Thankfully for him nothing came hurtling his way, and his boss seemed tempered by the knowledge that he still had something to give his own superior.

"Hmmm well I guess they will have to do... for now. Though stay alert Karbunkle, it won't be long before those mice come charging back in looking for them, and if your formula has done its job they will be wanting the antidote too."

"Ummm but there is no antidote, oh fragrant one. Did you want me to..."

"No, no, don't be stupid you witless idiot; I don't want there to be any chance that mouse will recover, do you understand?"

Karbunkle nodded hurriedly and practically dived into the elevator, knowing that if he lingered a second longer it would be him trying out his new potions, and not the dozen youngsters waiting in the side room to his lab.

* * *

_21.22pm_

_I'm freezing my butt off out here. Don't they ever sleep for goodness sake?_

Armed to the teeth with laser pistols and her much-favoured bazooka, Charley waited patiently behind some bushes in the plaza's inner courtyard garden. Just why the pilfering Plutarkian had a garden here was anyone's guess, but whatever the purpose it served as a pretty decent hiding spot whilst she spied on the nocturnal activities of his goon army.

Her bike slotted nicely between the dwarf laurels that concealed her, and with her thermos of hot coffee she was all set for a long night. Charley had no doubt that time was running out for the little children within the tower, but there was no way she could get inside on her own with all those trigger-happy low-lives hanging around outside.

At some point they had to call it a night; that's when she would strike, and strike hard. In her rucksack was a load of her remote detonating plastic explosives, and she knew exactly how to put them to good use to ensure Limburger didn't come chasing after them once she got the children out.

All she had to right now do was wait, and pray hard it wasn't for much longer.

* * *

_22.10pm_

By the time he had found his overly-generous host (back in the sitting room), and then explained everything he possibly could about why exactly he had to get home, and no not to Mars home but to Chicago home, and preferably as soon as possible, Throttle had more or less run out of breath, and his voice.

"Please, my friends... I have to help them. I can't explain why, or how. I just know it's urgent."

The man reclined in his chair, his face if anything redder than normal, and his belly decidedly more rounded. Beside him were the remains of a large tin of freshly baked mince pies, and several empty cartons that had once contained confectionery. He studied the tan-furred mouse in front of him, noting the great change in his energy since waking from his afternoon nap.

He was pleased. The man knew that it wouldn't take long for his guest to recover himself, and now that he had he was proving to be just like he expected him to be. Determined, loyal and brave. A good person. Someone who deserved the help he was only glad to offer.

"My elves already have my sleigh ready. And I believe they have a surprise for you too, noble mouse. Before we get going, might I suggest you try these on." he indicated to a pile of clothing that had appeared on the settee, which to Throttle looked just like what he had been wearing just before that robot had fired at him (vaporising his clothing in the process). Only this suit was much higher quality than that one had been.

"Right, thanks... they look really warm" the mouse said, flushing with the heat in the room and his new, festive thermal layers. Red never really was his favourite colour, but he didn't fancy another night spent outside in the freezing cold.

"No need to thank me. But please, have the last mince pie or my wife would be most upset if she thought I had them all myself."

* * *

_22.31pm_

The flask was empty, and the wind was getting up. Charley was starting to get a numb rear end just sitting here, but it still didn't look safe to move just yet.

She looked at her watch. By what Modo had said she could already be too late, and as she was getting bored it was getting less and less worthwhile waiting any longer.

She had to act. Charges in hand she started her bike, and set off towards the back of the tower. Hopefully she could get a few of the explosive set before she was noticed, and that might buy her enough time to make a snatch and grab.

Hopefully, she thought grimly. The small cardboard box she had also brought made her feel queasy just thinking about its purpose.

* * *

_22.43pm_

The sleigh had been moved into the loading bay of the great northern complex, and the huge sack that was nestled snugly in the back compartment was full to bursting. Throttle looked at it with wonder, not being able to see how the millions of children's presents could possibly fit inside it, let alone how much it must all weigh. How were eight hoofed animals meant to even pull it? _Did he say it flew? No way._

"Do you believe in magic, Throttle?" The now red-suited man asked as he climbed aboard his waiting vehicle.

"Uh.. you know what Mr. Claus, right now i'm ready to believe just about anything."

The man roared with a deep bellowing laugh. "I'm so glad you said that. Now then, aren't you forgetting something?"

Throttle had climbed in beside the round-bellied man and looked at him quizzically. "Forgetting wh-"

His jaw dropped open and his gaze followed the other man's finger. There, below the sleigh and being rolled forward by half a dozen of the tiny elves, was his Martian motorbike.

"My bike!" he exclaimed, leaping down to it. "Thanks so much, thank you so, so much."

"I told you to stop thanking me. Now climb aboard, your bike won't be able to get you home by itself I can assure you of that."

* * *

_23.24pm_

This was one time she really wished she was on the back of the Martian-made racer, and not her own (though heavily modified) Earth bike. She just wasn't as able to out run some of the shots being fired at her, nor out-corner all the goons piling in to slow her down.

She pressed the button on her controller again, and another rumble shook the tower. She had already set off three, and didn't dare take out any more of the lower section in case it brought the tower crumbling down around her. But she did need the explosives to distract and divert her pursuers, and it was getting tougher and tougher to reach the underground lab she had been in earlier.

A near miss caused her to swerve and slam into a wall. Rubbing her bruised shoulder she cursed; it was time for some _serious_ retaliation now.

The bazooka she carried was a highly effective weapon, and sent the thick-headed thugs diving for cover as she launched her arsenal at them. She had managed to successfully clear a path to the lab now, and with the knowledge of the secret room where those children were being held, all she had to do was make a run for it.

Charley just made it to the hole in the lab wall when a shot connected with her leg. She fell forward with a grunt, and managed to roll into the lab before a second shot ricocheted off the floor where she had lain. The goons were really persistent tonight it seemed.

And there in front of the injured woman was a row of tables, and on each table was one of the orphans.

_I better have made it in time_, thought Charley as she took a shaky aim at the computer with her laser pistol. _Please, please let me be in time._

* * *

_23.29pm_

"That's it, that's the place. They're in there, I know they are!"

The trip down from the far north had been far quicker than the mouse expected, and he was extremely relieved to see the familiar outline of the tower emerge so soon below him.

The sleigh pulled up on the roof with barely even a sound, aside from the soft jingle of the bells on the reindeer's harnesses, and Throttle leapt onto his bike and then with it onto the roof the moment the sled had stopped.

"I know you said don't but..."

"I know. You can't thank me enough. Just promise me you will keep doing what you're doing, and that will be all I need in return."

"Deal" said Throttle with a grin, his hands revving his bike in preparation.

The merry-faced man smiled back. "Just one question before I go, brave mouse. By any chance are you going down to the basement?"

* * *

_23.30pm_

Limburger couldn't have been more satisfied. Instead of a Martian mouse he now had the female mechanic, and whilst she might not make such a large and impressive botanical specimen as her predecessor, nonetheless she would fill the role just nicely.

He had descended his tower just in time to see the woman attempting to foil his plans for festive-themed gifts for the High Chairman, and pulled out his own pistol on her. Not wanting the children to be harmed in a fire-fight the woman had surrendered, and now lay strapped to a table all her own.

Karbunkle was preparing the doses for his 'Yuletide transformative toxin series', as he was calling it now, and the purple-suited fish watched with great anticipation. He really couldn't wait to see the end result of this little experiment.

"Pity that you won't be spending the holidays at home this year, dear woman, but I can assure you that you will find the celebrations on Plutark quite fulfilling."

Charley grimaced. Like Modo though the mechanic feared more for the safety of the orphaned children than her own, and they were all still on the other examination tables quite unmoving. It was not a good sign at all.

The first injection went into her arm, and though she felt nothing straight away soon the room began to spin. She wondered if that one on its own would do much to her, or if it needed the other ones to make a difference. She wondered what it would be like to be a tree, and if she would still have her mind, or if that too would vanish along with the rest of her mammalian cells. She wondered if that noise in the hallway was actually rock music, and not that forever-playing Christmas number one album still on repeat.

* * *

_Christmas eve, 10.00am._

With a heavy hand the beeping was finally silenced. She didn't even remember setting an alarm, let alone getting into bed. Or putting on her pyjamas. _That's embarrassing, I wonder which one of them did that?_

Charley clambered from under her covers and made her way into her en-suite. Since the mice had ruined her other bathroom she insisted on having the door to this one moved so that only she could access it. The tell-tale mix of grey, white and tan hairs on her soap told her it hadn't made one jot of difference.

She freshened up and set off downstairs, her stomach rumbling. She thought it would be nice if just for once those fur balls made her breakfast for a change, but that was more impossible than little green men existing. _Oh wait a minute... they actually do_.

Her garage was far too quiet. After last night she would have expected there to be some sort of macho back-patting, aka rough and tumble, or something like that going on. She might not have even minded finding her living room turned upside down, so long as she knew it was her mice that had done it, and that it meant they were home safe and sound.

It was worrying her slightly than none of the above was greeting her this morning. The place was practically silent.

"Guys?" she queried aloud. "Guys, are you there?"

"In here Charley-girl" came the immediate reply.

Vinnie's croaky voice floated out from her living room, and by its nasal undertone she guessed his nose was still as stuffy as it had been. She pushed open the door meaning to give him a good telling off for ignoring her advice.

"I told you to stay in bed until you were bet... Oh."

Charley stopped short. Vinnie wasn't just sick, and that pile of tissues weren't only his own.

"We tried everything. I even went back to the tower, but..." The tan mouse, now back in his usual leather and denim, was speaking to her now, but couldn't even finish the sentence he was so choked up.

He and Vinnie were sat together huddled over a small brown box, and their mournful faces said what simple words could not.

And in the corner of the room, beside the pile of unwrapped presents, stood a second, bare-branched tree.

Charley swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry Modo," she whispered, "I'm so, so sorry."

* * *

_11.58pm._

If anyone had been outside right at that moment they might have heard it. If they really, really wanted to, and if they really, really did believe it, they might have even seen something special overhead. A dark streak across a cloudless, star-filled night, the snow storm long passed by, and a soft jingle accompanying a much louder 'Ho ho ho!"

But one household would not be looking up at the sky that night. Even though one of them was probably the strongest believer of them all, he did not even glance upwards at the sound of bells, and he did not see the outline of a magic sleigh pulled by eight flying reindeer.

Throttle stood bottle in hand with his two remaining companions, each also cradling the sweet drink they favoured. It was all he could think of doing to honour the missing member of their team.

"Well, here's to Modo, and all the many Christmases we will have together" he said numbly, raising his root beer to meet the others before him and glancing sorrowfully at the second tree.

Charley and Vinnie did the same, but neither of them felt particularly cheerful. They had all spent the day mourning their losses, of not just Modo but worse still of the dozen orphans they also hadn't been able to save in time. To credit the nature of the gentle grey mouse they had adorned his boughs with the twelve sparkling ornaments (including one glittering angel), and now just before the day itself arrived they were all making one last toast. And one last wish.

A silence fell on the little room for a few moments, before someone was finally brave enough to break it.

"Guess we better get to bed then huh. Or Santa won't come... right, Throttle?"

His older bro nodded, a serious look on his face. "That's what the man says. Hope you've been a good boy this year Vincent, apparently bad kids only get a lump of coal in their stocking."

The white mouse winced and glanced at the decorated tree, and Throttle noticed his error.

"Uh... sorry, my bad." He downed the last of his drink and took his place on the sofa. He would have taken the single upstairs, but something inside really didn't want him to leave the living room that night. To leave _them_.

"Come on Vinnie, let's go. There's no point staying up all night."

Charley gently coaxed the white mouse upstairs, and even let him stay in her room with her. She knew he wouldn't want to be alone tonight either. She lay herself down, and allowed a white furred arm to pull her in closer to his side. "Good night, Vinnie" she said sleepily as the emotional exhaustion finally won out.

And so the three of them slept. Despite their anxieties, and their sadness, not one of them stayed awake for long, and they all fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

None of them heard the soft patter of hooves on the garage roof, nor the quiet jingle of bells in the air. And not even the tan-furred mouse curled up on the tattered settee realised he was no longer alone in the small living room, and slept on soundly until morning.

Neither mice nor mechanic were aware that Santa had been to the garage that night, and that as a gift he had given them all their one and only Christmas wish.

* * *

The end.


End file.
